THE  FLOWER-PATCH 
AMONG  THE  HILLS 

FLORA  KLICKMANN 


ity  of  California 
lern  Regional 

•ary  Facility 


Book  Department 
kansas  city,  mo.    i 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/flowerpatchamongOOkliciala 


The   Flower-Patch 
Among  the  Hills 


/ 


\ 


^^Z^Ct>t<fy  ..yc/u:H:^n-aM4T^ 


\ 


? 


The  Flower- Patch 
Among  the   Hills 

By 

FLORA    KLICKMANN 

Editor  of 
"The  Girl's  Own  Paper  and  Woman's  Magazine" 


NEW    YORK 

Frederick  A.  Stokes  Company 

Publishers 


printed  in  great  britain  by 

William  Clowes  and  Sons,  Limited, 

stamford  street,  london,  s.e. 


Dedicated  to 
My  Husband 


2136587   ' 


There  twice  a  clay  the  Severn  fills; 
The  salt  sea-water  passes  by, 
And  hushes  half  the  babbling  Wye, 

And  makes  a  silence  in  the  hills. 

In  Memoriam. 


Just  to  Explain 

I.  Who  Everybody  is 

Virginia  and  her  sister  Ursula  are  my  most 
intimate  friends.  Virginia — really  quite  a  harm- 
less girl — imagines  she  has  a  scientific  bias. 
Ursula — domesticated  to  the  backbone — led  a 
strenuous  life  in  the  pursuit  of  experimental 
psychology,  till  she  switched  oJBF  to  wash  hospital 
saucepans. 

It  will  be  so  obvious  that  I  scarcely  need 
add  :  What  little  common  sense  the  trio  possesses 
is  centred  in  ME. 

Abigail  is  my  housemaid ;  her  title  to  fame 
is  the  fact  that  she  is  the  only  servant  I  have 
ever  been  able  to  induce  to  remain  more  than 
a  fortnight  at  one  stretch  in  the  country.  The 
others,  including  those  who  are  orphans,  always 
have  a  parent  who  suddenly  breaks  its  leg — after 
they  have  been  about  ten  days  away — and  wires 
for  them  to  come  home  at  once. 

The  cook  has  discovered  a  number  of  cousins 
in  the  Naval  Division  at  the  Crystal  Palace 
(detachments  of  which  pass  my  London  house 
hourly,  while  many  units  partake  of  my  cake 
and  lemonade),  and,  of  course,  you  can't  neglect 
your  relatives  in  war  time. 

7  B 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  You  never  know  whether  that'll  be  the  last 
time  you'll  see  them,"  she  says,  waving  a  tearful 
tea-towel  at  all  and  sundry  who  march  past. 
Naturally,  she  doesn't  care  to  be  away  from 
town  for  many  days  at  a  time. 

The  parlourmaid  was  interested  in  a  member 
of  the  L.C.C.  Fire  Brigade,  when  he  enlisted, 
and  incidentally  married  someone  else — unfor- 
tunately the  very  week  she  was  away  with  me. 
This  has  given  her  a  marked  distaste  for  the 
simple  pleasures  of  rural  life. 

Abigail  is  unengaged.  "  What  I  ask  is : 
What  better  off  are  you  if  you  are  ? "  she 
inquires  of  space.     "  Take  my  sister,  now,  with 

eight    children,   and "      But   as   I   am    not 

taking  anyone  with  eight  children  just  now, 
the  sister's  biography  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

Abigail  is  a  willing,  kindhearted  girl.  Also 
she  has  a  mania  for  trying  to  arrange  every 
single  household  ornament  in  pairs.  She  would 
be  invaluable  to  anyone  outfitting  a  Noah's 
Ark. 

As  for  the  other  people  who  walk  through 
these  pages,  they  do  not  appertain  exclusively  to 
one  district.  I  have  had  two  cottages,  one 
beyond  Godalming,  in  Surrey,  the  other  high 
up  among  the  hills  that  border  the  river  Wye. 
Some  of  the  country  folk  live  in  the  one  village, 
some  in  the  other ;  but  the  scenery,  the  little 

8 


Just    to 
Explain 

wild  things,  and  the  garden  are  all  related  to  the 
cottage  that  overlooks  Tintern  Abbey. 

II.  Why  the  Cottage  is 

I  took  a  cottage  in  the  country  on  a  day  when 
I  had  got  to  the  fag-end  of  the  very  last  straw, 
and  felt  I  could  not  endure  for  another  minute 
the  screech  of  the  trains,  the  honking  of  motors, 
the  clanging  of  bells,  the  clatter  of  milk-carts, 
the  grind-and-screel  of  electric  cars,  the  ever- 
ringing  telephone,  the  rattle  and  roar  of  the 
general  traffic,  the  all-pervading  odour  of  petrol, 
and  the  many  other  horrors  that  make  both 
day  and  night  hideous  in  our  great  city,  and 
reduce  the  workers  to  nervous  wreckage. 

The  cottage  has  been  so  arranged  that  not 
one  solitary  thing  within  its  walls  shall  bear 
any  relation  to  the  city  left  far  behind ;  and 
nothing  is  allowed  to  remind  the  occupants  of 
the  business  rush,  the  social  scramble,  and  the 
electric-light-type  of  existence  that  have  become 
integral  parts  of  modern  life  in  towns. 

Here,  to  keep  my  idle  hands  from  mischief, 
I  made  me  a  Flower-patch. 

III.  Why  this  Book  is 

I  was  viciously  prodding  up  bindweed  out  of 
the  cottage  garden,  with  the  steel  kitchen  poker, 
when  the  telegraph  boy  opened  the  gate. 

Q  B  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

Unhinging  my  back,  and  inducing  it  into 
the  upright  with  painful  care,  I  read  a  message 
from  my  office  to  the  effect  that  there  was  some 
hitch  in  regard  to  the  American  copyright  of  a 
certain  article  I  had  passed  for  press  before 
leaving ;  this  would  necessitate  it  being  thrown 
out  of  the  magazine  that  month.  Would  I 
wire  back  what  should  go  in  its  place,  as  the 
machines  were  at  a  standstill  ? 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  I  should  merely 
have  waved  a  hand,  and  instantly  a  suitable 
substitute  would  have  been  on  the  machines 
with  scarcely  a  perceptible  pause — that  is,  if  I 
had  been  in  London.  But  such  is  the  witchery 
of  the  Flower-patch,  that  no  sooner  do  I  get 
inside  the  gate  than  I  forget  every  mortal  thing 
connected  with  my  office.  And  try  how  I  would, 
I  couldn't  recall  what  possible  articles  I  had 
already  in  hand  that  would  make  exactly  six 
pages  and  a  quarter — the  length  of  the  one  held 
over. 

And  because  I  could  think  of  nothing  else 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  I  threw  down  the 
poker  (it  was  red-rust,  alas,  when  I  chanced 
upon  it  a  week  later)  and  went  indoors  and 
wrote  about  the  cottage  and  the  hills. 

When  it  was  published  in  the  magazine, 
readers  very  kindly  wrote  by  the  bagful  begging 
for  a  continuation.  It  has  been  continuing — 
with  perennial  requests  for  more — for  some  time 

10 


Just    to 
Explain 

now.  This  only  shows  how  generously  tolerant 
of  editors  are  the  readers  of  periodical  literature. 

Virginia  merely  sniffs,  "  What  won't  people 
buy!" 

1  don't  think  she  need  have  put  it  so  baldly 
as  that. 

If  by  some  miraculous  chance  there  should 
be  any  profits  from  the  sale  of  this  book,  I 
intend  to  devote  them  to  the  purchase  of  a  cow 
(or  hen,  if  it  doesn't  run  to  a  cow),  to  aid  the 
national  larder.  I  shall  call  it  "  the  Memorial 
Cow,"  in  memory  of  those  who  have  been  good 
enough  to  assist  in  its  purchase. 

Should  any  reader  wish  to  have  the  cow  (or 
hen)  named  specially  after  him — or  her — self 
this  could  doubtless  be  arranged.  Particulars 
on  application  to  the  pubhsher. 


II 


II 

About  Getting  There 

We  always  consider  that  emancipation  takes 
place  at  one  exact  spot  on  the  Great  Western 
Railway ;  the  only  difficulty  is  that  Virginia  and 
1  never  agree  as  to  which  is  the  exact  spot. 

Virginia  insists  that  the  air  suddenly  changes 
just  beyond  Chepstow  Station,  where  we  change 
from  the  London  and  South  Wales  main  line 
to  the  local  train  that,  two  or  three  times  a  day 
(week-days  only),  runs  through  our  particular 
Valley,  Hke  a  small  boy's  toy  affair. 

This  train,  which  makes  up  in  black  smoke 
for  what  it  lacks  of  other  dignity,  steams  out  of 
the  main  line  junction  with  an  important  snort 
and  rumble;  over  the  bridge  it  goes,  and  the 
stranger  would  imagine  it  was  well  under  way. 
But  no ;  it  then  comes  to  a  standstill  at  the 
point  where  the  main  line  and  the  Valley  line 
meet,  in  order  that  the  gentleman  who  lives — 
we  presume — in  the  signal-box  (but  who  is 
always  standing  on  the  railway  line  when  we 
see  him)  may  hand  to  our  engine-driver  a  metal 
staff — some  sort  of  a  key,  they  tell  me,  which  is 
said  to  unlock  the  single  railway  line.  I  don't 
pretend  to  understand  the  process  myself.  I 
only  know  that  our  engine-driver  looks  lovingly 
at  it  as  though  it  were  the  apple  of  his  eye  (I've 

12 


About  Getting 
There 

craned  my  head  out  of  the  window,  that's  how 
1  know),  and  clasps  it  to  his  chest,  until  he  gets 
to  the  first  station  on  the  Valley  line,  where  he 
hands  it  over  to  the  station-master,  who,  in  turn, 
gives  him  another  one,  to  which  he  clings  just 
as  pathetically. 

In  this  leisurely  way  we  proceed  up  the 
Valley. 

It  wouldn't  have  any  deep  significance,  but 
for  the  fact  that  Virginia  maintains  it  is  the  first 
key  that  unlocks  the  imprisoned  Ego  within  her, 
and  sets  her  soul  free  from  the  trammels  and 
shackles  and  cobwebs  and  chains,  hampering, 
warping,  and  enmeshing  her,  that  have  been 
riveted  by  the  blighting  tendencies  of  London 
(and  a  lot  more  to  the  same  effect).  She  says 
she  feels  the  fetters  burst  directly  that  key  is 
handed  over,  for  she  knows  then  that  the  train 
is  beyond  the  possibility  of  making  a  mistake, 
and  getting  back  on  to  the  London  main  line 
again  instead  of  the  single  pair  of  Valley  rails. 

Then  it  is  that  the  air  becomes  fresher  than 
ever.  The  primroses  that  grow  all  up  the  rocks, 
just  beyond  the  signal-box,  are  very  much  finer 
than  those  on  the  junction  side ;  the  Sweet 
Betsey  (alias  red  valerian)  starts  to  drape  the 
ledges  with  rosy-crimson  as  soon  as  the  signal- 
man walks  back  up  the  wooden  steps  to  his 
cabin.  And  Virginia  herself  becomes  a  different 
being,  though  opinions  are  painfully  divided  as 

13 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

to  whether  the  change  is  for  the  better  or  for 
the  worse. 

She  says  she  feels  just  Hke  the  Lord  Mayor, 
or  the  Speaker  in  the  House  of  Commons,  with 
a  myrmidon  going  on  ahead  of  her  bearing  the 
mace. 

We  just  let  her  talk  on  when  she  gets  light- 
headed like  this.  After  all,  this  Rod  of  Office 
which  the  engine-driver  cherishes  is  what  Virginia 
waits  for  through  four  hours  of  express  train — 
six  if  you  go  by  a  slow  one.  And  the  spot 
where  he  receives  it  on  the  Une  is  where  she 
develops  a  beatific  smile  of  wondrous  amiability. 

For  me,  the  chains  snap  a  little  further  on. 

After  the  driver  has  received  his  Key  of 
Office  the  train  meanders  peacefully  through 
west  country  orchards,  placid  meadows,  and 
tawny-gold  cornfields ;  past  grey-brown  hay- 
stacks ;  past  little  cottages,  each  with  its  pig-sty 
and  scratting  hens,  and  a  clothes-line  displaying 
pinafores  and  sundry  other  garments  only 
mentioned  sotto  voce  in  the  paper  pattern  section 
of  ladies'  papers.  Small,  hatless,  yellow-haired 
children,  gathering  daisies  or  cowslips  in  adjoining 
fields,  wave  at  us  as  we  go  by. 

Then  the  engine  braces  itself  for  a  mighty 
effijrt,  and  gives  a  business-like  shriek  on  its 
whistle  (this  is  the  great  exploit  of  the  whole 
journey)  as  it  plunges  into  a  very  long,  dark, 
clattering  tunnel,  cut  through  solid  rock.     Here 

14 


About  Getting 
There 

we  sit  in  the  breathless  darkness  for  several 
minutes,  to  emerge  finally  upon  scenery  so 
unlike  that  we  left  behind  at  the  entrance  to 
the  tunnel  as  to  suggest  that  we  had  entered 
another  country. 

Gone  are  the  cornfields,  the  gentle  undu- 
lations, gone  the  farms  and  cottages,  the  hayricks 
and  barns.  Almost  in  sheer  precipices  the  rocks 
rise  up  from  the  rushing  winding  river  in  the 
valley  below,  clothed  from  summit  to  base  with 
forest  trees.  The  train,  now  an  insignificant 
atom  on  the  face  of  Nature,  puffs  vigorously 
along  a  ledge  cut  half-way  up  the  face  of  these 
giant  hills. 

From  the  windows  on  one  side  of  the  train 
you  look  down  upon  a  world  of  rocks,  trees  and 
water,  to  the  Horse  Shoe  bend,  where  the  river 
turns  and  twists  and  doubles  back  on  itself  again. 
Not  a  house  is  in  sight. 

The  windows  on  the  other  side  show  more 
grey  rocks  rising  up  out  of  sight,  with  trees 
growing  where  you  would  scarcely  think  they 
could  find  root-hold,  much  less  food  to  Uve  and 
thrive  on.  And  where  it  is  bare  stone,  and  there 
are  no  trees,  the  scarred  and  jagged  surface  of 
the  rocks — due  to  far-away  earth-rends  and  more 
modern  rock-slides — is  lovingly  swathed  and 
festooned  with  trails  of  Travellers'  Joy  and  ivy 
and  bryony ;  while  ferns  and  foxgloves,  wild 
strawberries  and  Mother  of  Millions  flourish  on 

15 


The  riower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

the  narrow  ledges,  and  sprout  out  from  sheltered 
crannies — such  a  mist  of  delicate  loveliness 
veiling  all  that  is  grim  and  cold  and  hard. 

Even  the  wooden  posts,  from  which  wire  is 
stretched  to  fence  off  the  railway  company's  land 
from  the  adjoining  woods,  are  entirely  covered 
with  a  Uving  mosaic  of  small-leaved  ivy,  patterned, 
with  no  two  scrolls  alike,  in  a  way  that  human 
hand  could  never  copy. 

Below  there  is  always  the  river,  that  swirls 
and  rushes  noisily  at  low  tide  over  its  weirs.  A 
heron  stands  motionless  on  a  grey-green  moss- 
covered  boulder  near  the  bank.  He  looks  up  at 
the  httle  train ;  but  it  is  too  far  away  to  worry 
him.  He,  and  a  kite  circling  high  overhead,  are 
the  only  signs  of  life  to  be  seen  as  one  passes 
along.  Yet  the  whole  earth  is  teeming  with 
small  folk,  furred  and  feathered  ;  the  rarest  of 
butterflies  are  glinting  over  the  rocks ;  the  otter 
is  hiding  down  in  the  river-pools  ;  and  from  time 
to  time  a  salmon  leaps  into  the  air,  a  flash,  a 
streak  of  silver,  and  a  series  of  eddying  ripples — 
that  is  all. 

This  is  the  spot  where,  for  me,  a  new  hfe 
begins  ;  where  unconsciously  I  draw  my  breath 
with  a  deep  intake,  and  suddenly  feel  the  past 
slipping  from  me  ;  the  noise  and  din,  the  sordid- 
ness  and  care  of  the  city  fade  into  the  background 
and  become  nothing  more  substantial  than  some 
remote  nightmare. 

i6 


About  Getting 
There 

Here  in  this  Valley  of  Peace  and  Quietness 
my  dreams  become  realities.  And  best  of  all, 
here  God  seems  to  lay  His  Hand  on  tired  heart 
and  tired  brain  ;  and  1  find  myself  saying,  "  This 
is  the  rest  wherewith  ye  may  cause  the  weary  to 
rest,  and  this  is  the  refreshing." 

We  had  just  witnessed  the  presentation  of 
the  first  key.  As  usual,  Virginia  and  I  had 
been  arguing — no,  that  isn't  the  right  word  ;  I 
never  argue ;  I  merely  discuss  things  intelligently. 
At  any  rate,  we  had  been  exchanging  views 
(that  differed)  as  to  the  exact  place  where  we 
noticed  the  great  change  come  over  ourselves  in 
particular,  and  things  in  general.  As  we  didn't 
get  any  nearer  a  final  settlement  we  appealed  to 
Ursula,  who  was  sitting  silent,  with  a  far-away 
look  in  her  eyes,  as  of  one  engaged  in  bridging 
space  and  measuring  the  stars. 

She  came  back  to  earth,  however,  at  our 
question,  and  said  she  was  absolutely  sure  the 
moment  of  her  great  transformation  was  when 
she  got  hold  of  a  cup  of  proper  domestic  tea,  as 
distinct  from  the  indigestive  railway  variety. 
Indeed,  for  the  past  few  minutes  she  had  been 
entirely  absorbed  in  the  mental  contemplation  of 
the  meal  she  hoped  Abigail  would  soon  be 
preparing.  Even  then  she  could  smell  the 
sizzling  ham  and  the  frying  eggs  and  the  buttered 
toast  we  should  have  on  arrival. 

17 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

We  were  in  the  sulphurous  depths  of  the 
tunnel  at  the  moment.  Naturally  I  was  hurt. 
As  I  said  to  her,  I  knew  my  board  was  frugal, 
and  my  viands  simple,  modest,  unaffected  and 
unassuming,  but  at  least  they  didn't  smell  like 
that ! 

Fortunately  she  hadn't  much  time  to  explain 
what  she  did  and  what  she  didn't  mean,  for  we 
came  out  of  the  tunnel  into  the  panorama  of 
hills  and  silence  ;  no  one  ever  talks  much  just 
here,  save  the  braying  type  of  tourist. 

Besides,  there  is  the  "  Abbey  "  to  watch  for. 
No  matter  how  many  times  you  may  see  that, 
you  always  wait  expectantly  for  the  moment 
when  you  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  wonderful 
grey  ruin. 

The  abbey-makers  of  the  olden  days  not 
only  knew  how  to  build,  but  they  also  knew 
how  to  "  place  "  their  beautiful  structures.  And 
the  setting  of  our  Abbey  is  as  nearly  perfect  as 
anything  can  be  in  this  world. 

The  steep  hills  recede  a  little  bit  just  at  one 
bend  of  the  river,  leaving  room  for  a  broad  green 
meadow  between  the  water  and  the  uprising 
steeps.  Here  the  Abbey  was  placed  :  a  babbling 
river  in  the  foreground,  dark  larch-covered  hills 
in  the  background.  Surely  it  is  no  fanciful 
exaggeration  to  think  that  the  beauty  all  around 
them  must  have  influenced  the  men  who  raised 
that  wonderful  poem  in  stone  ! 

i8 


About  Getting 
There 

I  would  like  to  take  you  into  the  Abbey  and 
show  you  the  beautiful  views  that  can  be  seen 
from  every  ruined  window,  each  one  a  framed 
picture  in  itself;  the  spray  of  oak-leaves  carved 
on  one  piece  of  stone,  the  live  snapdragons 
growing  out  of  buttresses,  the  graceful  spring  of 
each  slender  arch,  the  perfect  proportions  of 
the  whole  building,  for,  despite  the  cruel  wreckage 
it  suffered  in  the  past,  it  is  still  the  most  lovely 
Gothic  ruin  in  England. 

But  to-day  we  can't  stay. 

The  train  hurries  on,  through  another  short 
tunnel,  over  a  bridge  spanning  the  river  and  a 
talkative  weir,  and  then  into  our  station. 

In  the  summer  there  is  a  good  deal  of  bustle 
in  this  station,  which  is  the  haunt  of  many 
tourists.  I  am  told  that  five  out  of  every  ten 
visitors  are  from  the  United  States.  No  American 
thinks  of  "  doing  "  England  without  seeing  our 
valley,  which  is  famous  for  its  scenery  and  its 
ruins.  Thus  you  always  find  a  number  of 
women  in  trim  "  shirt-waists,"  and  wearing  large 
chiffon  veils  on  the  top  of  their  hats  at  angles 
quite  unknown  to  the  Enghsh  woman,  sitting 
on  the  platform  about  train  time,  writing  the 
usual  budget  of  picture  postcards. 

But  we  aren't  "  foreigners "  (as  the  natives 
style  everyone  who  doesn't  belong  to  their 
village).  That  is  one  of  the  many  charms  of 
arriving  at  this  station.     Here  no  one  regards  us 

19 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

merely  as  passengers  who  can't  find  their  luggage ; 
or,  passengers  who  have  changed  where  they 
had  no  business  to  ;  or,  passengers  who  expect 
the  local  porter  to  know  by  heart  all  the  railway 
connections  and  times  of  return  trains  through- 
out the  British  Isles.  Neither  are  we  among  the 
people  who  look  suspiciously  at  every  wagonette 
driver,  certain  that  he  is  going  to  overcharge, 
and  uncertain  as  to  which  is  likely  to  overcharge 
the  least.  We  have  no  anxieties  concerning  the 
truth  of  the  advertised  merits  of  the  various 
hotels,  and  apartments  to  let,  in  the  village. 

We  "  belong." 

There  is  a  sense  of  home-coming  in  our 
arrival.  The  porters  actually  rush  forward  to 
help  with  our  luggage,  and  the  station-master 
raises  his  cap. 

Old  Bob — who  occupies  the  doubly  proud 
position  of  being  the  only  one  among  the  fiy 
proprietors  who  displays  a  pair  of  steeds  attached 
to  his  vehicle,  while  he  is  also  the  one  who 
usually  drives  what  he  describes  as  "  the 
e-light-y" — is  waiting  with  his  wagonette  (and 
pair,  don't  forget)  and  a  cart  for  the  luggage. 

It  really  is  comforting  to  be  claimed  by 
someone  at  the  end  of  a  journey,  if  it  be  but  the 
wagonette  driver.  I  feel  so  solitary,  such  an 
orphan,  when  I  chance  to  arrive  alone  at  some 
strange  place  in  quest  of  a  holiday,  possibly  un- 
known to  a  single  person  but  the  landlady-to-be. 

20 


About  Getting 
There 

Don't  you  know  the  sinking  feeling  that  comes 
over  you  as  you  look  round  upon  the  crowds  of 
people,  some  scrambling  in,  and  some  scrambling 
out  of  the  train  ;  every  face  a  blank  so  far  as 
you  are  concerned  ?  No  one  to  trouble  whether 
you  ever  get  any  further,  or  whether  you  remain 
in  that  jostling  turmoil  for  ever. 

You  almost  wish  you  could  get  into  the  train 
and  go  back  to  town  again  ;  you  reflect  that 
there  at  least  the  butcher  knows  you,  and  the 
people  next  door,  and  the  crossing-sweeper  at 
the  corner. 

You  revive  after  having  some  tea,  but  it  is 
possible  to  spend  a  very  doleful,  homesick  quarter 
of  an  hour  between  the  time  you  get  out  of  the 
train  and  the  time  you  sit  down  to  a  meal  in 
some  strange  room,  whose  painful  unlikeness  to 
the  ones  you  live  in  accentuates  your  loneliness. 

But  that  never  happens  to  us  in  our  Valley. 
Before  we  have  got  out  of  our  compartment, 
Abigail  is  already  on  the  platform  and  holding  a 
levee  consisting  of  two  porters,  the  signalman, 
the  assistant  engine-driver  from  a  goods  train  in 
the  siding,  and  old  Bob's  nephew,  who  drives 
the  cart.  All  lend  a  hand  as  she  proceeds  to 
marshal  the  luggage,  and  with  a  peremptory 
wave  of  her  umbrella,  directs  its  disposal. 

Of  course  there  really  isn't  much  luggage. 
That  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  retreating  to 

21 


The  riower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

your  own  secluded  cottage  ;  being  oflP  the  beaten 
track  as  we  are,  there  is  no  necessity  to  take 
many  "toilettes" — either  demi  or  semi — or  a 
large  variety  of  lounge  robes,  or  matinees,  or 
boudoir  negligees,  or  rest  frocks,  or  tea-gowns, 
or  cocoa- coats,  or  evening  wraps  built  of  chiffon, 
and  really  necessary,  handy  things  of  that  sort. 
All  we  take  with  us  is  just  a  few  clothes  to 
wear. 

On  one  occasion  Virginia  did  bring  down  a 
long  "  article  "  (I  don't  know  what  else  to  call  it) 
composed  of  about  ten  yards  of  white  net, 
embroidered  here  and  there  with  large  beads,  an 
artificial  rose  sewn  on  to  one  corner  of  the 
curtain-like  thing,  a  gilt-metal  fringe  suggestive 
of  shoelace  tags  all  around  the  edges.  She 
couldn't  quite  understand  how  she  came  by  it, 
she  said.  She  remembered  an  energetic  ultra- 
elegant  shop-assistant,  somewhere,  displaying  it 
before  her,  with  the  information  that  it  was  a 
"  slumber  swirl,"  and  assuring  her,  condescend- 
ingly, that  it  was  the  very  latest,  and  absolutely 
sweet,  and  just  the  thing  for  outdoors  in  the 
summer.  Virginia  said  she  agreed  with  her,  she 
was  sure  ;  knowing  her  own  sweet  and  plastic 
disposition,  she  would  certainly  have  agreed  with 
her ;  she  was  thankful  to  say  she  wasn't  one  of 
those  people  who  perpetually  disagree  with  other 
people.  But — she  had  no  recollection  of  having 
attached  her  name  and  address  to  the  wisp,  much 

22 


About  Getting 
There 

less  of  having  paid  for  it !  Still,  the  energetic 
damsel  had  sent  it  home — and  here  it  was  ! 

Ursula,  after  one  glance  at  the  confection, 
hastily  turned  her  eyes  away  and  announced 
that,  for  her  part,  she  didn't  consider  it — well, 
quite  adequate ! 

Her  sister  explained  that  it  wasn't  supposed 
to  be  worn  that  way ;  and  she  arranged  herself 
with  closed  eyes  on  the  sofa  to  show  us  how  it 
would  look  when  draped  over  her — head  and  all 
— as  she  rested  in  the  hammock.  It  took  a  lot 
of  adjusting  so  as  to  avoid  getting  some  knobbly 
bead  motif  just  under  her  ear,  and  to  prevent  the 
shoe-lace  tags  attacking  the  under-side  of  the  face. 
And  when  she  had  at  last  found  a  spot  of  unem- 
bellished  net  on  which  to  lay  her  rose-leaf  cheek, 
she  was  afraid  to  move  for  fear  of  splitting  the 
frail  net. 

Ursula  merely  snorted. 

When  next  I  saw  the  "  slumber  swirl,"  part 
of  it  had  been  converted  into  a  meat-safe  of 
irreproachable  moral  character,  Ursula  having 
utilised  the  frame  of  our  getting-worn-out  one 
for  the  purpose. 

No ;  our  luggage  is  only  trifling,  and  only 
consists  of  just  what  we  need.  Abigail  takes 
mine  and  her  own  to  Paddington  in  a  bus,  which 
also  picks  up  the  luggage  of  the  other  two  girls 
en  route.     Individually,  the  details  do  not  seem 

23  c 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

much,  but  I  confess,  when  I  see  it  dumped  all 
together  on  the  platform,  the  aggregate  looks 
somewhat  nondescript. 

There  will  be  four  large  hat-boxes  (or  five  if 
Abigail  brings  more  than  one)  ;  anything  from 
three  to  seven  trunks  ;  Abigail's  collapsible  straw 
basket ;  a  bundle  of  umbrellas  and  sunshades  ; 
the  dog,  in  his  travelling  basket ;  a  chip  basket 
containing  pots  of  mysterious  seedlings  Virginia 
has  been  specially  raising  in  town  (which  usually 
get  upset  once  or  twice  on  the  way,  and  have 
been  known  to  turn  out  docks).  There  is  sure 
to  be  a  cardboard  box  for  one  of  Abigail's  best 
Jap  silk  Sunday  frocks  that  she  doesn't  want  to 
get  crushed ;  a  string  bag  containing  Abigail's 
novels  and  snippety  weeklies,  her  crochet,  a  few 
oranges,  two  bananas,  some  chocolate,  and  what- 
ever other  refreshment  she  will  need  on  the 
journey  ;  a  brown-paper  parcel  holding  a  few 
articles  of  wearing  apparel,  also  belonging  to 
Abigail,  that  she  only  remembered  at  the  last 
minute,  and  cook  did  up  for  her. 

Then  Ursula  is  sure  to  bring  some  contribu- 
tion to  the  larder — perhaps  tomatoes  and  a  cake. 
Naturally,  there  is  our  lunch  basket ;  and  I, 
personally,  never  feel  complete  unless  I  have  my 
leather  dispatch-box  beside  me.  I  also  take  a 
suit-case  containing  my  mackintosh — in  case  it 
rains  when  I  arrive — books  and  papers  which  I 
never  read,  knitting,  and  similar  necessities  for 

24 


About  Gettin 
There 

the  journey  ;  it  is  also  useful  as  a  final  receptacle 
for  oddments  I  omitted  to  pack  elsewhere. 
Virginia  and  Ursula  bring  similar  suit-cases,  for 
similar  reasons. 

Sometimes  Abigail  springs  surprises  on  us  at 
the  last  minute.  "  Whatever  have  you  there  ? " 
I  asked  one  day,  as  she  joined  us  on  the  Padding- 
ton  platform,  a  janghng  parcel  in  one  hand  that 
sounded  Uke  a  badly  cracked  bell,  and  a  large 
protrusion — silent,  fortunately — embraced  in  the 
other  arm. 

"  Oh,  this  is  just  a  new  zinc  pail "  (shaking 
the  musical  packet),  "  we  need  an  extra  one  ;  and 
I've  put  in  a  Httle  iron  shovel,  as  I  want  one  for 
my  kitchen  scuttle  :  and  there's  a  nutmeg  grater 
too  ;  the  one  down  there  is  getting  rusty.  And 
this  "  (nodding  towards  her  chest)  "  is  an  enamel 
washing-up  bowl.  Our  big  one  down  there 
leaks." 

And  she  proceeded  serenely  on  her  way  to 
the  accompaniment  of  iron  shovel  clink-clanging 
against  zinc  pail,  with  the  nutmeg-grater  tintin- 
nabulating  cheerfully  in  a  higher  key — and 
evidently  pleased  at  the  public  interest  she  was 
arousing. 

Not  that  her  surprises  are  always  so  useful. 
On  one  occasion  I  noticed  she  had  brought  two 
collapsible  straw  baskets,  but  concluded  she  had 
some  very  special  new  frocks  for  the  flower  show. 
The    porter    disposed    of    the    luggage — while 

25  c  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

Abigail  was  looking  the  bookstall  over.  When 
she  returned  and  found  both  baskets  missing,  she 
rushed  to  the  guard's  van.  Soon  things  were 
being  dragged  out  again,  Abigail  excitedly  urging 
haste.  The  guard  helped,  Abigail  assisting  with 
much  conversation. 

Eventually  she  lugged  one  basket  up  to  her 
own  compartment,  scorning  the  help  of  the 
penitent  porter.  As  she  passed  my  compartment, 
a  heartrending  "  mee-au  "  came  from  the  basket. 

"  What  in  the  world— !I— III  "  I  began. 

"It's  only  Angelina,"  Abigail  explained. 
"  She  hasn't  seemed  well  lately.  I  thought  a 
change  of  air  might  do  her  good.  Only  it  gave 
me  a  bit  of  a  fright  when  I  found  they'd  put  her 
in  the  van,  thinking  she  was  luggage  !  " 

(Incidentally,  Angelina  is  my  cat.) 

Being  my  own  place  and  not  someone  else's 
we  are  going  to,  it  occasionally  happens  that 
there  are  items  of  furnishing  that  need  to  go 
down,  a  mirror,  for  instance,  that  is  too  large  to 
pack  in  a  trunk.  Strictly  speaking,  the  railway 
company  might  be  within  their  rights  if  they 
argued  that  such  things  could  not  legitimately 
be  called  passenger's  luggage ;  but  Virginia  said, 
with  regard  to  the  mirror — 4  feet  x  2 — that  if 
they  objected  to  take  it,  she  should  tell  them 
every  woman  is  entitled  to  carry  a  mirror  among 
her  personal  luggage. 

Fortunately  no  one  so  far  has  objected  to  any 
26 


About  Getting 
There 

of  the  details  of  our  impedimenta^  so  long  as  the 
excess  charges  are  promptly  paid.  We  usually 
go  down  with  the  same  guard.  I  tell  him  what 
the  contraband  is.  He  carries  the  parcel  off 
majestically,  assuring  me  that  his  one  eye  won't 
leave  it  all  the  way  down,  no  matter  where  the 
other  may  be  focused  ;  and  he  begs  me  to  have 
no  anxiety  as  to  its  safety.  I  haven't.  I  know 
from  long  experience  that  the  guards  and  officials 
on  the  G.W.R.  have  elevated  poUteness  and 
courtesy  from  a  mere  duty  to  a  fine  art. 

Sometimes  I  almost  wish  they  wouldn't  take 
quite  such  care  of  our  things  I  There  was  the 
brown  pitcher,  for  instance.  I  had  been  wanting 
a  very  large  one  for  fetching  the  water  from  the 
spring  outside  the  cottage  gate.  Of  course,  I 
know  you  can  get  big  enamel  jugs  (painted 
duck-egg  blue,  or  anything  else  in  the  art  line 
that  you  fancy) ;  but  the  latter  seems  so  strident, 
so  townified,  so  newly-rich,  so  over-dressed,  when 
you  see  them  beside  our  moss-grown  wooden 
spout,  where  the  mountain  spring  splashes  down 
into  a  stony  hollow,  among  ferns  and  long  mosses. 
The  sturdy  but  humble  brown  pitcher  tones  in 
better  with  the  pale  yellow  sand  in  the  bottom  of 
the  hollow,  the  browns  and  greys  and  greens  of 
the  stones  and  growing  things  all  round.  The 
very  water  falls  into  it  with  a  mellow  musical 
sound,  instead  of  the  hollow  tinny  ring  that  the 
enamelled  creature  gives  forth. 

27 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

But  I  couldn't  see  one  in  the  village  shop  as 
big  as  I  required.  Ursula,  however,  ran  against 
the  very  thing  unexpectedly  in  town.  The  only 
difficulty  was  the  packing,  so  she  decided  to 
carry  it  just  as  it  was.  Virginia  expressed  a 
sincere  hope  that  she  would  at  least  tie  a  pale 
blue  bow  on  the  handle. 

She  got  it  safely  as  far  as  Paddington,  but 
here  an  iron  pillar  suddenly  ran  alongside  and 
torpedoed  the  pitcher— so  she  said — knocking  a 
small  but  very  business-like  hole  clean  through 
its  bulging  side.  Then  the  question  arose  :  What 
was  she  to  do  with  the  remnants  ?  The  train 
was  due  to  start  in  two  minutes,  so  she  hadn't 
time  to  inquire  for  the  station  dust-bin. 

Virginia  suggested  that  she  should  try  to 
induce  the  bookstall  boy  to  accept  it  as  payment 
for  a  packet  of  milk  chocolate ;  failing  that,  she 
had  better  put  an  advertisement  in  the  paper 
offering  a  wonderful  specimen  of  antique  Roman 
pottery  in  exchange  for  a  sable  motoring  coat,  or 
a  cartload  of  white  mice. 

What  she  did  do  was  to  leave  it  tidily  on  the 
nearest  seat,  with  the  intention  of  bestowing 
sixpence  on  the  first  porter  she  could  waylay  if 
he  would  make  himself  responsible  for  its  after 
career.  But  apparently  every  employee  at 
Paddington  Station  had  enlisted. 

The  whistle  was  blown,  and  the  train  started 
to  move  slowly,  just  as  the  vigilant  eye  of  the 

28 


About  Getting 
There 

guard  fell  upon  the  disabled  crock.  His  face 
lighted  up.  He  seized  it,  rushed  to  the  moving 
compartment  containing  Ursula.  "  Madam,"  he 
gasped,  "  you  have  forgotten  this,"  and  he  thrust 
it  into  her  arms. 

She  didn't  dare  try  to  leave  it  behind  any 
more  ! 

Then  there  was  the  fish.  It  was  on  an 
occasion  when  Virginia  was  coming  down  by 
herself,  and  thus  lacked  the  restraining,  and 
more  practical,  hand  of  Ursula.  Now,  as  I  have 
already  hinted,  Virginia  is  an  intelligent  girl. 
She  can  tell  you  exactly  how  many  million  tons 
of  certain  chemicals  could  be  excavated  from 
the  very  bottom  of  Vesuvius  (if  only  they  could 
manage  to  put  the  fire  out,  of  course),  and  how, 
if  these  milhon  tons  were  applied  to  the  land  in 
Mars,  as  artificial  manure,  the  wheat  crop  they 
would  produce  in  one  year — if  only  you  could 
raise  their  temperature  a  few  hundred  degrees, 
and  this  could  easily  be  done  if  you  transfer — by 
wireless — the  heat  that  isn't  needed  in  Vesuvius 
to  Mars  (or  is  it  the  moon?),  where  they  do 
want  it— why,  then — (where  was  I  ?) — Oh,  yes, 
the  wheat  crop  they  would  harvest  per  annum 
would  be  sufficient  to  feed  the  whole  of  the 
inhabitants  of  this  planet  of  ours,  and  several 
others  thrown  in,  for — I  forgot  how  many  dozen 
years. 

29 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

T^  Yes,  she  is  a  very  bright  girl,  just  as  well 
informed  on  any  other  subject  you  like  to 
mention — excepting  fish !  There  she  draws  a 
woeful  blank:  she  has  no  more  notion  how  to 
tell  fresh  fish  at  sight  than  a  baby  ! 

Still,  she  is  generous  in  her  intentions,  and  as 
no  one  ever  thinks  of  journeying  to  the  cottage 
without  taking  something  in  the  eatable  line — it 
is  only  right  to  take  a  little  present  when  you  go 
to  stay  with  friends,  isn't  it  ? — Virginia  cast  about 
as  to  what  she  could  bring.  Game  has  no 
attraction — we  have  plenty  of  that.  Fish,  on 
the  contrary,  is  a  rarity.  Although  our  river  is 
full,  we  seldom  see  fish  at  the  cottage,  excepting 
a  very  over-due  variety  that  a  man  peddles  round 
occasionally. 

So  she  decided  on  fish — alas  !  And  hastened 
into  the  first  fishmonger's  she  saw  and  ordered  a 
dozen  pairs  of  soles.  She  maintains  that  wasn't 
what  she  meant  to  ask  for.  It  was  oysters  she 
wanted  to  bestow  on  me,  and  she  went  in  with 
the  definite  intention  of  purchasing  a  dozen 
oysters.  At  that  moment,  however,  her  mind 
was  somewhat  pre-occupied  with  a  scientific  in- 
vention she  was  thinking  out,  whereby  no  woman 
need  ever  again  handle  a  broom  or  carpet-sweeper 
or  anything  of  that  kind. 

It  was  a  simple  device,  consisting  of  a  vacuum 
between  the  layers  of  leather  on  the  bottom  of 
the  shoe,  and  some  sort  of  a  suction  arrangement 

30 


About  Getting 
There 

whereby  you  drew  up  the  dust  from  the  carpet 
(or  wherever  you  walked)  just  by  stepping  on  it. 
You  would  clear  as  you  go,  and  instead  of  a 
person  trailing  dirt  up  and  down  the  stairs  by, 
walking  straight  in  from  the  garden  and  up  to 
the  top  attic,  they  would  really  be  giving  the 
stair  carpet  what  would  be  equal  to  a  good 
brushing. 

Moreover,  not  only  would  spring  cleaning 
be  banished  for  ever — when  her  invention  was 
perfected — but  your  shoes  would  never  more 
need  mending.  The  dust  collected  in  the  shoe, 
being  subject  to  so  many  cubic  inches  of  pressure 
due  to  the  person  standing  on  top  of  the  shoe, 
would  become  so  compressed  and  self-adhesive 
as  to  offer  a  direct  resistance  to  the  friction  set 
up  between  boot  and  alien  matter  trodden  upon, 
equal  to  the  inverse  ratio  of — I  haven't  the 
faintest  notion  what !  But  I  dare  say  you  can 
follow  her  line  of  argument.  She  herself  says 
she  is  always  lucid  and  concise. 

At  any  rate,  I  remember  she  said  that  it  was 
terribly  hard  to  be  the  mother  of  a  huge  family 
of  boys,  who  not  only  trailed  dust  and  dirt  into 
the  house  at  all  times  and  seasons,  but  also  wore 
out  innumerable  pairs  of  boots  into  the  bargain. 
Whereupon  I  reminded  her  that  neither  of  us 
need  worry  personally  about  that  just  yet ! 

She  agreed,  but  said  that  did  not  alter  her 
desire  to  benefit  her  day  and  generation,  and  to 

31 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

rid  the  world  of  "the  Burden  of  the  Broom." 
And  she  was  meditating  on  this,  and  thinking  of 
all  the  leather  we  had  wasted  by  letting  it  wear 
off  the  bottoms  of  our  boots,  when  she  saw 
the  fish  shop,  and  though  she  thought  a  dozen 
"  oysters,"  what  she  said  was  a  dozen  "  pairs  of 
soles  " — and,  of  course,  I  would  recognise  that 
the  mistake  wasn't  her  fault ;  it  was  entirely  due 
to  the  psychological  action  of  the  subconscious 
something  that  connected  soles  with  boots,  etc. 

Anyhow,  the  result  was  that  she  paid  cheer- 
fully for  such  a  collection  of  fish  as  I  hope  I  may 
never  see  again.  And  how  happy  that  fishmonger 
must  have  been,  when  the  transaction  was  com- 
pleted, only  those  who  got  a  whifF  of  the  fish  can 
estimate. 

Virginia  admitted  that  she  thought  the  price 
seemed  a  lot  for  a  dozen  oysters  (soles  were  two 
shillings  a  pound  at  the  time),  and  the  bag  seemed 
heavy.  Also,  she  confessed  that  it  was  a  trifle 
more  than  she  had  intended  to  spend  on  a  present 
for  me  at  that  moment,  though  she,  being  a  real 
lady,  would  have  been  the  last  to  mention  it  if  I 
hadn't.  No,  she  hadn't  thought  to  look  at  what 
he  put  it ;  she  merely  told  him  to  pack  them  up 
very  securely,  as  she  was  going  a  long  railway 
journey.  She  didn't  know  they  were  soles  till 
she  glanced  at  the  bill  in  the  train.  She  consoled 
me  with  the  information  that  fish  has  the  most 
wonderful  phosphorescent  properties,  invaluable 

32 


About  Getting 
There 

in  the  case  of  brain-fag ;  and  she  should  see  that 
I  ate  it  all ! 

After  a  few  miles  of  the  journey  the  soles 
grew  a  little  noisy  in  the  rack.  You  don't  want 
to  look  a  gift-horse  in  the  mouth — truth  to  tell, 
I  didn't  want  to  look  at  that  particular  gift  at  all. 
But  I  had  to  open  both  windows. 

At  our  first  stop,  Reading,  when  the  guard 
came  to  the  door  and  politely  inquired,  "Are 
you  ladies  all  right  ?  Can  I  get  you  anything  ?  " 
I  asked  him  if  he  would  be  so  good  as  to  take 
charge  of  the  big  rush  bag.  I  suggested  that  he 
could  tie  it  on  to  the  back  buffer  at  the  very  end 
of  the  train.  I  assured  him  it  was  nothing  that 
would  hurt.  But  he  only  smiled,  and  said  he  had 
plenty  of  room  in  his  own  compartment ;  the 
basket  would  be  quite  safe  there,  no  one  would 
touch  it.     I  could  quite  believe  it  1 

When  he  came  down  the  platform  at  Swindon 
he  looked  very  pale  and  out  of  sorts,  I  thought. 
Conscience-stricken,  I  pressed  a  shilling  into  his 
hand,  and  begged  him  to  get  himself  a  good  cup 
of  tea.  He  said  he  would,  and  certainly  seemed 
to  have  revived  when  next  he  passed. 

We  got  it  home,  eventually,  without  Abigail 
detecting  it — I  wanted  to  save  Virginia's  face 
before  the  handmaiden — as  we  took  the  basket, 
wrapped  up  in  my  mackintosh,  in  the  wagonette 
with  us,  Abigail  following  behind  in  the  luggage- 
cart.    She  did  say  later,  however,  that  she  wished 

33 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

that  pedlar  and  his  awful  kippers  and  bloaters 
could  be  suppressed  by  law.  He  had  evidently 
just  been  round,  she  said,  and  she  could  smell 
his  wretched  fish  all  the  way  as  she  drove  up. 
We  didn't  tell  her  what  we  had  hidden  in  the 
old  barn. 

We  buried  them  darkly  at  dead  of  night. 
The  only  soft  spot  we  could  find,  that  admitted 
of  a  good-sized  trench  being  dug  without  much 
trouble,  was  the  moist  earth  beside  the  brook  in 
the  lower  orchard. 

Next  morning,  at  breakfast-time,  when  the 
small  dog  ran  in  to  greet  us,  his  nose  and  paws 
showed  signs  of  active  service  as  he  joyfully 
dabbed  brown  mud  on  the  front  of  our  fresh 
print  frocks,  and  waggled  his  tail  with  the  air  of 
a  dog  who  is  conscious  of  heroic  achievements. 
Abigail  followed  him  with  the  bacon-dish,  which, 
in  her  excitement,  she  tried  to  balance  on  the  top 
of  the  coffee-pot. 

"  You'd  never  believe  what  a  high  tide 
there  has  been  in  the  brook  I "  she  began.  "  A 
spring  tide,  I  should  think.  It's  washed  up 
hundreds  and  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  large 
fish  on  to  the  bank.  Never  saw  such  a  thing  in 
my  life  before.  First  I  knew  of  it  was  slipping 
on  one  on  the  kitchen  hearthrug.  Dandie  had 
brought  one  in— wanted  me  to  grill  it  for  his 
breakfast,  I  suppose  I  Then  1  found  he'd  carried 
one  up  to  the  mat  outside  your  bedroom  door, 

34 


About  Getting 
There 

and  just  dropped  a  few  others  here  and  there 
about  the  house.  So  I  went  out  to  see  where 
he  got  'em  from.  Judging  by  the  smell,  they 
must  have  lain  there  for  weeks.  Wish  I'd  been 
here  with  a  net  at  the  time.  I've  never  caught 
a  live  fish  in  my  life,  though  I've  often  tried  to 
fish  in  the  pond  on  Peckham  Rye." 

Naturally  we  expressed  great  interest,  and 
suggested  immediate  cremation  in  the  kitchener. 

Later  on,  the  handy  man  was  decidedly 
sceptical.  His  grandfeyther  had  once  caught  a 
trout  in  that  brook  (only  he  gave  long  bio- 
graphical, geographical  and  historical  details, 
which  proved  that  it  wasn't  that  brook  at  all) ; 
but  he  hadn't  a-seed  any  hisself  a-coming  down. 

Abigail  scornfully  pointed  out  that  high  tides 
came  up,  and  these  fish  had  been  washed  up 
from  the  river,  which  is  700  feet  below ;  and  she 
flapped  one  as  evidence  before  his  astonished 
eyes. 

Seeing  is  believing  in  our  village  ! 

To  this  day  Abigail's  tales,  to  cook  and  co. 
and  her  friends  at  home,  of  how  she  goes  out 
and  catches  soles  as  large  as  plaice  in  our  own 
brook,  and  boils  them  for  supper,  equal  any  fish 
stories  ever  told ! 

But  to  return  to  the  luggage  and  ourselves, 
which  I  left  waiting  at  our  httle  station. 

While  the  luggage  is  being  stowed  into  the 

35 


The  riower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

vehicles,  we  take  stock  of  the  platform,  th*t 
seems  to  fancy  itself  the  pivot  of  the  universe  ! 
Everybody  that  is  going  away  scrambles  into 
the  train  with  precipitate  haste,  as  though  they 
were  trying  to  catch  a  train  on  the  Tube,  or  a 
sprinting  motor-bus  in  the  Strand !  although 
they  know  quite  well  that  the  peaceful  old 
engine  —  already  twenty- five  minutes  behind 
time — won't  think  of  stirring  again  until  it  has 
had  a  ten  minutes'  nap  I 

Those  who  have  just  arrived  seem  equally  in 
a  hurry  to  get  somewhere  else,  and  they  try  to 
squeeze  three  thick  out  of  the  small  station 
gate — only  to  plant  themselves  in  the  path  just 
outside  for  a  long  gossip  with  the  first  person 
they  see. 

There  are  women  with  empty  baskets  return- 
ing from  market,  and  women  seeing  off  friends, 
each  carrjring  a  huge  *'  bookey  "  of  flowers,  built 
up  in  the  approved  style,  from  the  back:  first 
a  big  background  rhubarb  leaf,  or  something 
equally  green  and  spacious,  then  some  striped 
variegated  grass — gardeners'  garters,  we  call  it ; 
also  some  southernwood — better  known  as  Old 
Man's  Beard ;  tall  flowers  like  foxgloves,  phlox, 
Japanese  anemones,  early  dahlias  and  sunflowers 
follow ;  the  shorter  stems  of  pinks,  calceolarias, 
sweet  Williams  and  roses  are  the  next  in  succes- 
sion ;  finishing  off"  with  some  georgeous  pansies 
and  a  very  fat  cabbage  rose  with  a  short  stem 

36 


About  Getting 
There 

(that  persists  in  tumbling  out),  a  piece  of  sweet- 
briar,  and  a  few  silver  and  gold  everlasting 
flowers  down  low  in  the  front.  If  you  have  a 
geranium  in  your  window,  etiquette  demands 
that  you  add  the  best  spray — as  a  special 
offering — to  the  bunch,  telling  your  friend  all 
about  the  way  you  got  that  geranium  cutting, 
and  the  trouble  you  had  to  rear  it. 

You  know  the  sort  of  complacent  well-packed 
bunches  that  are  the  result  of  this  combination. 
Not  artistic,  of  course,  according  to  town 
standards,  but,  all  the  same,  they  are  dears ;  and 
I  always  feel  I  want  every  one  I  see. 

The  station  itself  is  a  flower  garden.  And 
even  in  the  space  outside,  where  the  motor-cars 
await  the  rich,  and  the  wagonettes  and  carts 
await  the  nearly-poor,  primroses  and  violets  and 
cowslips  and  bluebells  grow  thick  on  the  banks. 

Naturally  the  arrival  of  the  train  is  a  matter 
of  local  importance,  and  if  you  happen  to  be 
near  the  station  about  train-time  you  go  in  and 
sit  on  the  platform  just  to  see  who  comes  or 
goes. 

And  how  well  everybody  looks,  and  sturdy, 
and  brown,  after  the  pale  anaemic  faces  we  have 
left  in  town  I  You  think  how  happy  they  must 
all  be  here  in  the  fresh  air  and  the  sunshine.  So 
they  ought  to  be,  and  so  most  of  them  could  be, 
if  only  they  kept  a  look-out  for  happiness,  and 
seized   all   that   came   their   way.     But   human 

37 


The  Flower-Patcn 
among  the  Hills 

nature  the  world  over  seems  to  love  to  con- 
template the  tragic,  or  at  least  to  pity  itself! 
The  result  is  that  every  other  person  you  meet 
in  our  village  will  tell  you  a  tale  of  woe  as  highly- 
coloured  as  anything  you  hear  in  town. 

"  How  do  you  do  ? "  I  inquired,  last  time  I 
arrived,  of  a  comfortable  healthy-looking  woman, 
who  had  just  been  seeing  her  daughter  off  by 
train.  Her  husband  is  a  steady  man,  in  regular 
work.  She  owns  the  cottage  she  lives  in,  and  a 
pig,  and  has  no  difficulty  in  supplying  the  wants 
of  her  family,  which  are  few. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  up  to  much,  m'm,"  she  began. 
*'  Things  is  so  hard  nowadays,  and  no  one  gives 
we  a  bit  o'  help.  There's  that  Jane  Price,  she 
got  a  pound  of  tea,  and  a  hundudweight  of  coal, 
and  a  red  flannel  petticut,  from  the  lady  of  the 
manor  at  Christmas,  and  she  be  a  widder  with 
on'y  her  children.  But  /  on'y  got  some  tea  and 
a  petticut  (not  a  nice  colour  red  neither),  no  coal 
nor  nothing,  and  thur  I've  got  he  to  keep  as  well 
as  the  children,  and  in  course  I  need  it  wuss'n 
her  do  I" 

Further  along  the  platform  I  spoke  to  the 
wife  of  a  small  farmer,  a  healthy  soul,  with 
nothing  much  to  worry  her.  But  she  didn't 
intend  to  be  behindhand  with  trouble  !  Other 
people  found  plenty  to  moan  about ;  she  wasn't 
to  be  outdone. 

"  You've  heard  of  the  awful  time  I'm  having 
38 


About  Getting 
There 

with  my  husband  ?  Fell  down  in  the  wood  and 
broke  his  leg  in  four  places  !  Suffers  terrible,  he 
does." 

I  expressed  sympathy,  and  asked  how  long 
he  had  been  in  bed. 

"  Oh,  he  isn't  in  bed  ;  can't  spare  the  time  to 
lay  up,  with  the  haymaking  just  on.  He's 
cutting  the  five-acre  field  to-day.  He  gets 
about,  but  he  has  an  abundation  of  pain  at 
nights.  Yes,  you're  right.  Very  active  he  is, 
there's  no  keeping  him  still.  He'll  walk  to  his 
own  funeral,  he  will." 

Actually  the  man  had  a  touch  of  rheumatism  I 

Finally  we  are  settled  in  the  fly,  piled  up 
with  the  lighter  luggage,  while  Abigail  and  old 
Bob's  nephew  follow  in  the  cart. 

To  the  stranger  who  has  never  been  in  our 
Valley  before,  the  drive  to  the  Cottage  is  a  thing 
of  wonder ;  to  those  of  us  who  do  the  journey 
many  times  in  the  course  of  the  year  new 
beauties  are  always  revealing  themselves,  and 
the  whole  scene  seems  more  lovely  each  time  we 
look  upon  it,  if  that  be  possible. 

The  station  is  on  the  river  level,  down  in  the 
green  depths  of  the  Valley.  But  you  cannot  go 
many  yards  on  level  ground,  as  the  hills  on 
either  side  of  the  river  are  steep,  with  nothing 
but  the  narrowest  footpath  in  places,  between 
their  precipitous  sides  and  the  fast-rushing  water. 

39  D 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

In  many  cases  the  cottage-gardens  on  the  hill- 
side have  to  be  kept  up  with  walls  of  stone — as 
one  sees  the  vineyards  built  up  on  steep  hill-sides 
in  vine-growing  districts — otherwise  the  rains 
and  swollen  brooks  would  wash  the  earth  down, 
in  the  winter,  into  the  river  below. 

The  horses  start  the  ascent  as  soon  as  they 
leave  the  station,  and  pass  through  the  small 
village,  which  shows  a  curious  medley  in  the 
way  of  architecture.  In  the  wall  of  an  old 
cow-house  there  is  a  Gothic  window,  built 
probably  with  stones  taken  from  the  ruined 
Abbey ;  all  the  windows  of  one  cottage  bear  an 
ecclesiastical  stamp.  Before  the  beautiful  ruin 
was  carefully  guarded  as  it  is  now,  people  must 
have  gone  and  helped  themselves  as  they  pleased 
to  carved  stonework  and  any  fragment  that 
they  could  make  use  of;  and  thus  you  may  find 
an  exquisite  bit  of  carved  stone  in  a  most 
ordinary  three-roomed  dwelling.  Some  of  the 
cottages  and  barns  may  have  been  part  of  the 
Abbey  property;  at  any  rate  one  comes  on 
architectural  surprises  in  the  most  unexpected 
places. 

But  even  though  in  this  district  man's  handi- 
work has  achieved  wondrous  things,  it  is  the 
work  of  Nature  that  claims  the  attention. 

The  Abbey  seems  a  huge  pile  when  you 
stand  under  its  roofless  walls  ;  but  once  you  start 
to  ascend  the   hills,   everything  takes  on  new 

40 


k 


About  Getting 
There 

proportions.  No  longer  are  you  shut  in  by  two 
high  green  hill-walls,  the  higher  you  go  the 
smaller  become  the  hills  that  are  nearest  to  you, 
as  they  reveal  far  greater  giants  behind  them. 
The  blue  Welsh  mountains  rise  up,  still  further 
beyond  again. 

Below,  the  river  winds  and  loses  itself, 
seeming  to  come  to  an  abrupt  end  against  a 
barrier  of  dark  green  slopes  ;  but  it  evidently 
finds  a  way  out,  for  it  is  seen  further  on  in  the 
far  distance,  a  silver,  gleaming  band,  still  winding, 
and  still  guarded  by  mountains  that  now  are 
tinged  with  the  purply-blue  tone  that  Nature 
uses  for  her  distant  effects. 

The  lanes  through  which  we  pass  are  miracles 
of  loveliness,  with  their  ferns  and  flowers  and 
birds  and  butterflies.  But  I  think  one's  over- 
whelming thought  is  of  the  grandeur  of  the 
distances.  One  is  always  looking  away  to  the 
far-off,  to  the  farms  and  small  homesteads  dotted 
at  rare  intervals  on  far  heights  and  among  the 
forests  ;  to  the  peaks  beyond  peaks  ;  to  the  light 
playing  on  miles  of  birch  and  oak;  to  the 
shadowy  coombes  where  hills  drop  down  into 
other  valleys. 

I  have  always  noticed,  when  I  am  bringing 
anyone  for  the  first  time  from  the  station  to  my 
house,  that,  though  I  point  out  the  roadside 
springs  and  waterfalls,  the  glory  of  the  hedges, 
the  rose-coloured   honeysuckle  that  grows  over 

41  D  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

one  cottage,  smothering  roof,  chimneys  and  all, 
the  visitors  do  not  expend  so  much  admiration 
on  any  of  this,  it  is  always  the  inexplicable 
mystery  of  the  hills  that  holds  them.  Every 
five  minutes  takes  one  higher,  and  reveals  a 
further  panorama.  Beautiful  as  are  the  lesser 
things,  lovely  as  is  the  old  ruined  Abbey,  the 
human  and  the  near  seem  to  slip  away  from  you 
as  you  look  across  the  deep  chasm  where  the 
river  lies  below,  to  the  vastness  on  the  other  side. 
There  is  a  power,  a  force  born  of  great  heights 
and  great  spaces,  that  cannot  be  explained,  but  is 
surely  felt  by  all  who  have  not  mortgaged  their 
soul  to  mammon.  There  was  a  depth  of  mystic 
meaning  in  the  words  of  the  shepherd  poet,  even 
in  the  world's  young  days,  when  he  wrote  :  "  1 
will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from  whence 
cometh  my  help." 

It  takes  you  about  an  hour  to  drive  up  to 
the  cottage,  and  by  this  time  the  lane  has  grown 
so  narrow — and  so  bumpy  ! — that  you  marvel  the 
horses  have  ever  got  you  there  at  all.  But 
when  you  have  reached  the  little  white  gate  you 
stand  and  look  in  silence.  A  new  touch  is  added 
to  the  landscape.  You  are  now  high  enough  to 
look  over  the  tops  of  some  of  the  intervening 
hills,  and  there  away  beyond,  between  a  dip  in 
the  hills,  you  see  a  gleaming  band  of  silver,  the 
waters  of  the  Channel. 

Some  people  consider  no  scenery  perfect 
42 


About  Getting 
There 

unless  there  is  a  railway  in  the  foreground  to 
take  them  back  to  town  as  soon  as  possible. 
Some  artists  always  want  a  touch  of  scarlet  to 
complete  any  picture.  Myself,  I  always  think  a 
glimpse  of  water  is  needed  to  make  a  beautiful 
view  absolutely  satisfying.  At  my  cottage  I  am 
doubly  blessed !  I  can  see  the  river  in  the 
Valley  below,  and  beyond  there  is  the  Channel, 
towards  which  that  river  is  ever  hurrying. 

During  the  drive  up,  the  small  white  dog 
with  brown  ears,  sits  on  the  box  seat,  dividing 
his  time  between  shrieking  BilUngsgate  insults 
to  every  local  dog  (I  blush  for  his  manners. 
And  he  looks  so  refined  too  !)  and  licking  old 
Bob's  face.  Not  that  he  has  any  particular 
affection  for  our  driver,  but  he  gets  quite 
hysterical  when  he  sees  the  countryside  and 
scents  the  rabbits ;  and  old  Bob  is  the  handiest 
recipient  for  his  overwhelming  gratitude.  A 
few  dogs  trail  after  us  through  the  village,  telling 
him — and  one  another — what  they  will  do  when 
they  get  hold  of  him  ;  but  they  fall  back  when 
it  comes  to  the  hill ;  and  our  own  treasure  looks 
triumphantly  ahead  for  new  dogs  to  revile ; 
deluding  himself  with  the  idea  that  he  has  slain 
all  behind  him,  and  left  their  corpses  in  the 
road  I  Occasionally  he  ceases  to  be  a  bullying 
war-dog,  and  becomes  almost  human  ;  then  he 
suddenly  looks  round  at  us,  wags  his  tail  all  he 
knows   how,   and    gives   a  httle   whimper  that 

43 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

plainly  says,  **  Isn't  it  good  to  be  here  again  ! " 
And  we  all  agree. 

It  is  good  to  see  the  hills,  and  the  valleys, 
the  sturdy  trees,  and  the  tender  little  ferns 
growing  out  of  the  walls.  Best  of  all,  it  is  good 
to  see  the  small  white  gate,  and  the  red-tiled 
roof,  and  the  blue  smoke  curling  up,  oh,  so 
peacefully,  from  the  cottage  chimney.  It  is 
good  to  see  the  flowers  smothering  the  walls 
and  the  garden  beds ;  and  very  good  to  greet 
one's  own  furniture  again,  one's  own  rooms, 
one's  own  familiar  things — no  matter  how  humble 
they  may  be. 

For  months  we  have  clean  forgotten  that  the 
living-room  window  requires  two  thumps  if  it  is 
to  be  got  open  ;  yet  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation Ursula  pulls  off  her  gloves  the  moment 
we  enter  the  door,  makes  straight  for  the 
window,  and  gives  it  the  requisite  couple  of 
vigorous  bangs,  so  as  to  let  in  the  evening  scent 
of  the  honeysuckle  that  is  thick  about  the  porch. 
For  months,  it  may  be,  we  have  forgotten 
entirely  that  the  lid  of  the  biggest  brown  teapot 
has  a  knack  of  tumbling  off  into  the  teacup, 
unless  it  is  held  on  while  one  pours.  And  yet, 
the  moment  I  take  up  that  teapot  again,  in- 
stinctively my  hand  grips  the  lid. 

There  is  an  indefinable  spirit  of  welcome  in 
all  these  little  familiar  things — so  commonplace 
and  feeble  and  stupid  they  would  seem  to  out- 

44 


About  Getting 
There 

siders ;  yet  to  us  they  imply  that  "  we  belong." 
It  is  part  of  the  all-pervading  rest  that  we  find 
among  these  hills,  that  we  go  on  from  just 
where  we  left  off  last  time.  We  don't  have  to 
start  afresh,  or  get  acquainted  with  the  place,  or 
learn  anything  new.  There  is  a  great  charm  in 
returning  to  familiar  scenes  that  is  missed  by 
those  who  are  always  rushing  off  on  some  new 
quest.  True,  they  may  find  interest  in  another 
direction  ;  but  I  think  with  most  of  us — ex- 
cepting when  we  are  very  young  and  very  in- 
experienced— the  homing  instinct  is  strong. 

I  have  laid  my  battered  brain  on  pillows  in 
some  of  the  largest  hotels  in  the  world ;  but  I 
have  never  known  in  any  of  them  the  peaceful 
rest  that  is  to  be  found  in  the  cottage  bedroom, 
despite  its  sloping  roof.  I'm  not  saying  that 
there  is  nothing  whatever  to  disturb  one  there — 
all  too  often  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Starling  (several  of 
them)  persist  in  building  under  the  tiles  just 
above  my  head,  and  the  various  families  demand 
breakfast  at  8.30.  Yet  I  even  get  to  sleep 
through  this. 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  that  always 
wakes  me  and  calls  me  in  a  most  peremptory 
manner  to  get  up,  and  that  is  the  return  of  the 
swallows  one  morning  in  April  or  May,  when  the 
sites  are  being  chosen  for  the  new  nests  under 
the  eaves.  It  is  such  a  sweet  little  chatter,  such 
a  bubbling  over  of  comment   and   advice  and 

45 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

reminiscence,  as  they  get  their  first  beakful  of 
mud,  and  start  to  lay  the  foundation-stone  of 
the  nest. 

What  do  they  say  ?  I  often  wonder.  They 
seem  to  talk  the  whole  time,  and  explain  to  each 
other  the  excellent  residential  qualities  of  their 
various  positions.  One  thing  I  am  sure  they  say 
— and  they  twitter  it  over  and  over  again — I 
know  they  mean  it,  though  I  don't  understand 
their  language  ;  for  the  homing  instinct  is  strong 
in  them,  as  it  is  in  all  of  Nature's  children  ;  and 
as  I  listen  to  them  in  the  early  morning,  I  can 
almost  hear  their  words,  '*  Isn't  it  good  to  be 
here  again  ?  " 


46 


Ill 

At    the    Sign    of    the 
Rosennary  Bush 

When  the  cottage  was  originally  built — about 
one  hundred  and  thirty  years  ago — it  was  probably 
just  two  rooms  upstairs,  one  going  out  of  the 
other,  and  a  kitchen  and  scullery  downstairs.  In 
the  intervening  years,  however,  one  owner  has 
added  on  a  couple  of  rooms  on  one  side,  and 
another  has  put  on  two  more  and  a  pantry  round 
the  corner,  and  so  on,  till  it  is  difficult  to  say 
exactly  what  type  of  dwelling  it  really  is. 

There  is  a  proper  front  door  somewhere 
about  the  place,  only  no  one  ever  seems  to  lind 
it ;  the  path  leading  to  it  from  the  main  gate 
unobtrusively  hides  itself  among  the  fir-trees, 
wandering  round  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
under  some  low  apple-trees — of  course,  no  one 
who  wasn't  familiar  with  the  geography  of  the 
estate  would  think  of  exploring  such  an  out-of- 
the-way,  narrow,  grass-grown  trail.  No,  they 
would  naturally  follow  along  the  irregularly- 
flagged  broad  path  that  is  kept  by  the  handy  man 
fairly  free  from  weeds  (except  some  httle  ferns 
that  will  peep  up  at  the  edge,  no  matter  what 
he  does  to  them,  and  a  saucy  white  violet  that 

47 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

has  planted  itself  right  in  the  very  middle  of  the 
walk  and  blooms  vigorously). 

Along  this  path  most  people  go,  whether 
they  carry  their  best  sunshade,  a  bead  bag  and 
a  silver  card-case,  or  are  merely  delivering  two 
half-pounds  of  butter  done  up  in  dock  leaves,  and 
a  cream-coloured  duck  wrapped  up  in  a  coarse 
white  tea-cloth  with  his  hver  tucked  under  his 
wing,  a  big  bunch  of  fresh  sage  stuck  in  his 
mouth — "and,  please,  mother's  put  in  a  couple 
o'  onions  in  case  you  didn't  happen  to  have 
none." 

This  broad  path  leads  to  a  corner  in  the  archi- 
tectural conglomeration  where  there  are  two 
doors  at  right  angles — one  moderately  respectable 
and  one  smaller  and  shabbier.  If  you  carry  a 
silver  card-case,  you  knock  at  the  respectable- 
looking  door — which  promptly  admits  you  into 
the  scullery :  if  you  are  merely  someone  anxious 
to  dispose  of  a  few  eggs  or  wanting  to  borrow 
a  little  flour,  you  knock  more  humbly  at  the 
shabby  door — to  find  you  are  battering  at  the 
coal-house. 

Abigail  deals  with  callers  according  to  their 
status :  the  silver  card-cases  are  invited,  in  dulcet 
tones,  to  retrace  their  steps  along  the  broad  path 
and  take  the  narrow  one  to  the  front  door. 
Sometimes  they  do  exactly  as  they  are  told  ;  but 
more  often,  alas  !  they  espy  yet  another  door, 
which  they  promptly  make   for,   and  this   one 

48 


At  the  Sign  of  the 
Rosemary  Bush 

precipitates  them  right  into  the  living-room 
and  on  top  of  me,  no  matter  what  I  may  be 
doing. 

Inside  the  cottage  it  is  a  similar  jumble. 
You  think  you  have  found  the  living-room  all 
right,  w^hen  you  come  in  from  the  garden,  only 
to  pull  up  in  a  large  pantry,  like  a  small  room, 
with  shelves  full  of  delicious  mysteries  in  glass 
jars  and  jampots  and  pickle  bottles. 

You  open  a  door  in  the  living-room,  thinking 
it  is  the  one  leading  out  into  the  back  hall,  to 
find  yourself  confronted  with  a  very  steep  and 
narrow  stone  staircase,  which  is  one  way  of 
getting  upstairs !  Of  course  you  get  used  to  it 
all  in  a  few  days,  and  eventually  cease  to  tumble 
down  over  the  odd  step  that  is  obligingly  placed 
here  and  there  in  dark  spots,  wherever  the  floor 
level  changes  in  the  halls  or  landings.  But  to 
those  who  are  not  native-born  it  is  a  wee  bit 
confusing  at  first. 

The  Uving-room  was  originally  the  kitchen. 
It  has  a  large  fireplace  with  an  oven,  and  wide 
hobs  whereon  you  can  stand  a  kettle  or  anything 
else  you  want  to  keep  hot.  It  has  a  crane,  too 
— only  we  daren't  cook  our  dinner  in  a  pot 
suspended  from  it,  because  I  don't  want  Abigail 
to  give  notice.  We  have  therefore  to  content 
ourselves  with  giving  the  crane  an  occasional 
swing. 

49 


The  Flow«r-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

The  mantelpiece — of  oak  that  is  black  with 
age — has  two  shelves,  the  upper  one  projecting 
beyond  the  lower,  which  has  a  frill  of  chintz 
beneath.  Higher  up  still  there  is  an  ancient  rack 
for  holding  a  couple  of  guns,  and  there  are  cup- 
boards on  each  side,  also  of  black  oak,  that  must 
have  been  put  there  when  the  house  was  built. 

But  I  think  the  thing  that  delights  my  heart 
above  everything  else  in  this  room  is  the  huge 
dresser. 

When  you  start  with  a  room  Uke  this — I 
forgot  to  mention  that  there  are  oak  rafters, 
with  hooks  for  home-fed  hams — it  is  easy  to 
make  it  cosy.  The  big  wooden  settle  keeps  off 
draughts,  some  chairs  that  belonged  to  my  great- 
grandparents  are  far  more  comfortable  than  any- 
thing I  could  buy  nowadays,  with  the  wood 
worn  to  that  smooth  polish  that  can  only  be 
attained  by  generations  of  handhng. 

The  oak  dower  chest  is  heavily  carved,  though 
its  iron  hinges  and  locks  suggest  a  prison  door 
for  solidity  and  size ;  still  it  is  a  handy  receptacle 
for  the  miscellaneous  collection  of  MSS.  and 
papers  that  haunts  me  wherever  I  go  I 

I  do  not  expect  everybody  to  admire  this 
style  of  room.  There  was  one  caller  (who  came 
out  of  sheer  curiosity)  who,  after  gazing  around 
the  living-room,  with  manifest  disapproval,  at 
last  said,  "  You  really  could  make  this  into  quite 
a  nice  little  drawing-room  if  you  had  those  old 

50 


At  the  Sign  of  the 
Rosemary  Bush 

rafters  and  beams  done  away  with,  and  a  proper 
ceiling  put.  Then  you  could  easily  have  a  nice 
tiled  modern  stove  in  place  of  that  dreadfully 
old-fashioned  fireplace,  with  those  great  hobs. 
And  if  you  moved  the  dresser  into  the  kitchen, 

and "     So  she  went  on,  winding  up  with  the. 

encouraging  assurance,  "  And  you  would  hardly 
know  the  place  when  you  had  got  it  all  done." 

With  one  voice  we  said  we  could  quite 
believe  it. 

People  so  often  fail  to  realise  that  both  a 
country  cottage  decked  out  in  imitation  of  a 
town  villa,  and  a  town  villa  decked  out  in 
imitation  of  a  country  cottage,  are  equally 
unsatisfying.  In  each  case  the  fake  and  insin- 
cerity of  the  schemes  jar. 

If  it  isn't  bothering  you  too  much,  I  should 
like  you  to  look  at  the  ornaments — these,  as 
much  as  anything  else,  give  the  room  its  "  unlike- 
ness  "  to  anything  you  see  in  the  city.  Here  is 
a  lovely  fat  fish  in  a  glass  case  among  reeds  and 
grasses.  On  the  walls  are  antlers  of  the  fallow 
deer.  Then  there  is  a  framed  sampler,  and  like- 
wise some  wonderful  needlework  of  a  bygone  age 
when  needlework  was  an  art. 

On  the  mantelpiece  shelves  are  china  cottages 
and  castles,  an  old  china  miU  with  a  wonderful 
mill  stream,  on  which  are  china  ducks,  each  the 
size  of  the  mill-wheel !     Then  Red  Riding  Hood, 

51 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

in  a  little  sprigged  pinafore,  carrying  a  dear  little 
basket,  and  patting  affectionately  a  most  en- 
gaging, friendly-looking  wolf,  is  always  admired. 
Timothy's  grandmother  (a  dignified  -  looking 
matron),  teaching  little  Timothy  out  of  the 
Bible,  is  a  relic  from  the  days  when  Scriptural 
subjects  were  among  the  ornaments  found  in 
most  households.  "  Going  to  Market "  and 
"  Returning  from  Market "  are  a  choice  pair  of 
china  subjects,  showing  the  lady  riding  behind 
her  husband  on  a  prancing  steed  that  would  do 
credit  to  Rotten  Row. 

Mary  and  her  little  Lamb  is  one  of  the 
prettiest  in  the  collection,  only  she  lost  one  of 
her  arms  over  fifty  years  ago  !  There  are  various 
cows  and  sheep  (some  with  blue  ribbons  round 
the  neck),  and  other  quaint  china  oddities. 

Then  there  is  a  beautiful  hen  sitting  on  a 
most  symmetrically  woven  (china)  straw  nest 
packed  full  of  eggs  (each  one,  in  proportion  to 
the  hen,  is  the  size  of  an  ostrich  Qgg).  The  hen 
(eggs  and  all)  can  be  lifted  up,  using  her  head, 
poor  thing,  as  the  handle,  and  then  you  find  she 
is  the  cover  to  an  oval  dish.  I  always  intend — 
should  any  members  of  our  Royal  Family  get 
stranded  on  these  hills,  and  drop  in  unexpectedly 
to  tea — to  serve  them  with  a  poached  egg  in  thi . 
identical  dish. 

And  you  must  not  overlook  the  shining  brass 
candlesticks,  some  tall  and  stately,  some  squat, 

52 


At  the  Sign  of  the 
Rosemary  Bush 

with  square  trays  and  extinguishers,  that  have 
been  winking  and  glinting  in  the  light  for  a 
century  now  — and  are  still  shining;  nor  the 
brass  and  horn  lantern  hanging  from  a  beam. 
A  lantern  is  an  absolute  necessity  on  these 
rugged  hills  when  there  is  no  moon. 

How  friendly  the  old  brass  things  are  I  Just 
look  at  the  warming-pan  with  its  bright  sun- 
face.  I  have  no  doubt  modern  radiators  and 
hot- water  pipes  are  a  boon  to  those  who  do  not 
mind  headaches  and  dried-up  air — but  do  they 
look  as  warm  and  comforting  as  the  gleaming 
warming-pan  ? 

That  reminds  me  of  the  first  time  Abigail 
came  down  from  London.  She  looked  at  the 
warming-pan  with  interest,  as  she  had  never  seen 
one  before.  The  weather  was  cold,  and  hot- 
water  bottles  were  the  order  of  the  night  in 
town. 

When  I  returned  from  an  evening  stroll  with 
some  guests,  she  met  me  with  an  anxious  face. 
"  If  you  please,  miss,  will  you  kindly  show  me 
how  you  keep  the  water  inside  that  warming- 
pan  ?  I  can't  get  it  to  stay  inside  nohow  when 
I  start  to  lift  it  I " 

I  wonder  if  you  have  ever  seen  a  dresser  like 
this  one?  The  oak  shelves  forming  the  upper 
part  are  built  into  a  deep  recess  in  the  wall,  one 
above  the  other,  up  to  the  rafters,  and  all  set 

53 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

back  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall — and  you  can 
see  how  thick  these  walls  are  from  the  window- 
ledge,  which  is  fifteen  inches  deep.  But  they 
need  to  be  solid,  for  the  winter  storms  that 
thrash  across  these  hills  show  scant  consideration 
for  present-day  building  methods  ;  and  a  modern 
"  bijou  bungalow "  would  probably  be  found 
scattered  about  the  next  parish,  if  it  ever  lived 
long  enough  to  get  its  roof  on  ! 

The  dresser  is  closely  hung  with  jugs  and 
mugs  and  cups,  willow-pattern  plates  and  dishes 
make  a  good  deal  of  white  and  blue  against  the 
walls,  which  are  a  full  buttercup  yellow,  while 
a  collection  of  ancient  china  teapots,  with  some 
square  willow-pattern  vegetable  dishes  and  a  tall 
Stilton  cheese  dish  with  two  big  sunflowers  on 
it,  occupy  the  wider  ledge  at  the  bottom. 

Here  are  some  uncommon  specimens  of 
lustre  jugs.  This  is  a  rare  lustre  mug,  brown 
with  green  bars  outside,  and  a  purple  band 
inside.  A  lustre  pepper-box  stands  on  one  of 
the  dresser  ledges,  and  salt-cellars  of  glass,  so 
heavy  as  to  suggest  paper-weights. 

Do  you  know  the  fascination  of  old  English 
mugs  ?  On  this  dresser  they  range  from  a  tiny 
mug  in  Rockingham  ware,  only  an  inch  and 
a  half  high,  to  noble  things  that  suggest  long 
draughts  of  home-made  herb  beer !  There  are 
mugs  with  bunches  of  flowers  on  them,  others 
with  conventional  bands  or  designs,  some  with 

54 


At  the  Sign  of  the 
Rosemary  Bush 

landscapes,  some  with  butterflies,  some  with 
words  of  wisdom  to  be  imbibed  by  the  youthful 
along  with  the  milk. 

Jugs,  again,  are  most  alluring,  once  you  get 
a  mania  for  them  !  One  of  my  jugs  is  of  brown 
earthenware,  smothered  with  a  raised  design 
showing  a  trailing  grape-vine,  with  big  bunches 
of  grapes  here  and  there.  Two  other  jugs  that 
belonged  to  a  bygone  ancestress  are  apparently 
made  of  a  white  stone  wall,  with  the  most 
natural-looking  ivy  creeping  up  it  and  displaying 
bunches  of  berries.  Jug-makers  of  the  past  gave 
so  much  interest  to  their  goods  by  reason  of  this 
raised  work,  instead  of  being  content  to  transfer 
a  flat  design  as  they  do  now.  One  white  jug  has 
ofF-standing  deer  around  it,  grazing  among  trees. 
Another  has  a  hunt  in  full  progress,  horses  and 
riders,  dogs  and  all — though  it  always  hurts  me 
to  see  the  running  hare. 

A  real,  proper  dresser  is  a  useful  bit  of  furni- 
ture, provided  it  has  plenty  of  hooks.  It  holds 
such  a  quantity  of  things.  I  have  all  sorts  of 
odd  cups  and  saucers  on  mine,  relics  of  past 
treasures  that  have  somehow  survived  the  hand 
of  the  hired  washer-up ;  httle  bits  that  remind 
me  of  all  sorts  of  pleasant  things,  such  as  tea- 
services  my  mother  had  when  I  was  httle,  some 
that  have  belonged  to  other  relatives. 

In  passing,  I  may  say  that  a  dresser  of  this 
sort  is  a  great  incentive  to  good  works.     Many  a 

55  E 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

relation,  on  looking  at  it,  has  said,  "  /  have  an 
old  jug  that  belonged  to  your  great,  no,  your 
great-great-aunt ;  I  shall  give  it  to  you,  as  you 
like  things  of  that  sort." 

Or  another  time  it  will  be  :  "  What  a  collection 
of  odd  cups  I  Good  gracious,  if  a  little  thing 
like  that  amuses  you,  I'll  turn  out  a  lot  I  have 
stored  away  somewhere,  glad  to  get  rid  of  them  ; 
it  only  annoys  me  to  look  at  them,  as  it  reminds 
me  how  all  the  rest  of  the  set  got  smashed.  You 
can  have  them  and  welcome." 

There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  this  sort  of 
"give  and  take"  about  the  furnishing  of  this 
cottage.  And  it  is  so  much  more  interesting  to 
me  as  the  owner  to  know  the  history  of  the 
various  items,  than  if  1  had  merely  bought 
antiques  by  the  houseful,  as  1  have  known  some 
people  do.  In  the  latter  case,  a  room  is  so  apt 
to  look  hke  nothing  but  an  old  curiosity  shop ; 
as  it  is,  the  things  all  seem  to  "  belong,"  just  as 
much  as  we  do. 

But  I  mustn't  weary  you  with  a  catalogue 
of  household  furnishings,  though  I  know,  if  you 
could  actually  see  the  china  and  the  little  bed- 
rooms, with  white,  washable  handwork  every- 
where, and  wonderful  old  patchwork  and 
knitted  quilts,  you  would  love  it  all.  The  Bird 
room  is  the  general  favourite,  with  its  unique 
crochet ;   there  are  swallows  flying  across  the 

56 


At  the  Sign  of  the 
Rosemary  Bush 

curtain-tops,  swans  sailing  among  bulrushes  on 
the  washstand  splash,  wild  geese  flying  above  the 
tree-tops  at  another  window,  ducks  swimming 
sedately  along  towel-ends,  more  swallows  (in 
cross-stitch  this  time)  on  a  table-cover,  parrots 
(in  darned  filet)  on  the  dressing-table  cloth,  while 
seagulls  float  along  a  frieze,  a  glass  case  of  rare 
birds  is  over  the  mantelpiece,  and  a  large  wool- 
work pheasant,  balancing  itself  ingeniously  on  the 
top  of  a  small  basket  of  grapes,  and  endeavouring 
to  look  as  though  it  were  quite  its  natural  habitat, 
is  framed,  and  hangs  on  the  wall.  I  don't  think 
the  far-back  relative  who  worked  it  had  much  of 
an  eye  for  proportion,  however ! 

On  the  mantelpiece  stands  a  sedate  row  of 
china  fowls,  a  marble  fountain  basin  in  the 
centre,  with  white  pigeons  basking  around  the 
edge. 

Just  one  other  room  you  must  look  into — the 
sitting-room,  because  1  want  you  to  see  my  dolls' 
things.  Yes,  I  know  it  sounds  imbecile,  but  I 
never  had  a  dolls'  house.  When  I  was  young,  the 
rest  of  us  were  brothers,  and  it  wasn't  considered 
economical,  therefore,  to  present  a  toy  that  would 
only  be  serviceable  to  one  out  of  the  bunch. 
Besides  which,  in  those  days  children  didn't 
immediately  get  what  they  stamped  for.  So  I 
had  to  go  without  the  thing  I  yearned  for 
above  all  others.     But  you  may  be  sure  I  took 

57  E   2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

care  of  what  dolls'  things  did  chance  to  come 
my  way. 

Dolls  themselves  were  very  scarce,  but  I  had 
several  sets  of  dolls'  tea-things,  given  by  dis- 
cerning aunts,  and  here  they  are,  in  a  funny  old 
glass  cupboard  in  the  corner  of  the  sitting-room. 
One  is  a  very  small  set,  with  teeny  pink  rosebuds 
on  it ;  another  is  a  larger  set,  that  my  small 
friends  drank  tea  out  of  (and  occasionally  smashed 
a  cup  for  me).  There  are  two  dinner  services, 
one  in  plain  white — a  round  soup  tureen,  a  gravy 
boat,  a  square  vegetable  dish,  with  some  remain- 
ing plates  and  dishes  ;  the  other  a  gorgeous  aiFair, 
with  Dickens  scenes  on  each  plate — one  dozen 
meat  and  six  soup  plates,  with  dishes  and  tureens 
galore,  and  oh  !  such  lovely  china  soup  and  sauce 
ladles,  all  en  suite. 

These  dolls'  things  seem  to  affect  people  in 
different  ways.  Some  look  at  them  with  eyes  that 
go  back  to  their  own  childhood,  and  memories  that 
recall  similar  treasures  that  they  wanted  when 
they,  too,  were  little,  and  did — or  did  not — get. 
Such  people  know  exactly  why  I  value  these 
things.  They  handle  them  lovingly,  but  don't 
say  much. 

But  there  are  others  who  gaze  at  the  dolls' 
china  (and  the  little  wooden  animals,  and  the 
glass  slipper  I  was  certain  Cinderella  wore,  and 
the  china  grand  piano,  and  the  dolls'  brass  fender, 
and  all  the  other  oddments),  and  then  look  at 

58 


At  the  Sign  of  the 
Rosemary  Bush 

me  in  blank  astonishment.  It  is  evidently 
incomprehensible  to  them  that  any  sane  woman, 
in  these  days  of  strenuous  intellectuality,  can 
hoard  such  childish  rubbish.  And  I  am  power- 
less to  explain  my  reasons. 

Occasionally,  however,  light  breaks  across  one 
of  these  amazed  countenances,  and  a  woman  will 
suddenly  exclaim  :  "  /  have  part  of  a  dolls'  dinner 
service  somewhere  in  the  attic  at  home,  I  believe. 
I  shall  get  it  out,  and  put  it  in  my  china  cabinet. 
It  looks  quite  smart,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

To  which  I  reply :  "  Yes ;  and  I  hear  they 
are  going  to  be  much  worn  this  season." 

All  the  decorations  in  the  house  are  on  the 
most  homely  lines,  one  room  has  each  deep 
window-ledge  filled  with  seashells  and  coral.  If 
you  want  silver  boxes  and  cut-glass  scent-bottles 
in  the  bedroom,  you  must  bring  them  yourself. 
We  think  the  wooden  dressing-table  looks  all  that 
can  be  desired,  clothed  in  a  blue-glazed  lining 
petticoat,  with  white  dotted  muslin  on  top.  And 
who  could  want  a  silver-backed  hand-glass,  when 
they  have  the  chance  of  using  one  that  has  its 
back  encrusted  with  small  seashells  ! 

There  are  plenty  of  pictures  all  over  the 
house,  many  of  them  without  frames.  Haulage 
is  an  expensive  matter  on  these  hills,  and  we 
always  take  this  into  consideration.  Several  of 
the  rooms  have  friesses  made  of  brown  paper,  to 

59 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

which  have  been  affixed  a  series  of  coloured 
plates.  The  charm  of  this  arrangement  is  that 
you  can  take  down  the  old  frieze  and  put  up  a 
new  one — or  stick  a  fresh  picture  over  some  old 
one — as  often  as  you  please. 

All  pictures,  however,  show  beautiful  views 
of  outdoor  scenery :  heather-clad  hills,  flowering 
gardens,  snow-covered  peaks,  and  rolling  waves. 
Whether  they  are  original  paintings  that  famous 
artists  have  given  me,  or  plates  from  art  maga- 
zines, they  are  all  views  of  large  spaces,  and 
induce  big,  restful  tfioughts. 

Some  cards  that  hang  on  the  bedroom  walls 
have  been  singled  out  again  and  again  by  my 
friends  for  special  commendation.  I  happened 
to  see  them  one  day  when  I  was  going  round  the 
Book  Saloon  of  the  R.T.S.  in  St.  Paul's  Church- 
yard. One  special  favourite  has  these  lines  on 
it  (possibly  you  know  them  ?) : — 

GOOD  NIGHT. 

Sleep  sweet  within  this  quiet  room, 

Oh  thou!  whoe'er  thou  art, 
And  let  no  mournful  yesterday 

Disturb  thy  peaceful  heart ; 
Nor  let  to-morrow  scare  thy  rest 

With  dreams  of  coming  ill ; 
Thy  Maker  is  thy  changeless  friend, 

His  love  surrounds  thee  still. 
Forget  thyself  and  all  the  world. 

Put  out  each  feverish  light ; 
The  stars  are  watching  overhead, 
s  Sleep  sweet,  Good  Night,  Good  Night. 

60 


At  the  Sign  of  the 
Rosemary  Bush 

Another,  bought  the  same  day,  is  entitled : — 

A  QUIET  BESTING  PLACE. 

And  80  I  find  it  well  to  come 

For  deeper  rest  to  this  still  room ; 

For  here  the  habit  of  the  soul 

Feels  less  the  outer  world's  control, 

And  from  the  silence  multiplied 

By  these  still  forms  on  every  side, 

The  world  that  time  and  sense  has  known 

Falls  off  and  leaves  us  God  alone. 

For  the  Flower  room,  Canon  Langbridge's 
delightful  book.  Restful  Thoughts  for  Dusty 
WaySf  supplied  me  with  a  verse : — 

HEAVEN   COVEES  ALL. 

When  the  world's  weight  is  on  thy  mind, 
And  all  its  black-winged  fears  affright, 

Think  how  the  daisy  draws  her  blind, 
And  sleeps  without  a  light. 

And  for  the  Bird  room,  I  have  on  the  wall 
W.  C.  Bryant's  beautiful  poem,  "  Lines  to  a 
Waterfowl."   You  will  remember  these  verses  : — 

There  is  a  Power  whose  care 
Teaches  thy  way  along  that  pathless  coast, 
The  desert  and  illimitable  air — 

Lone  wandering,  but  not  lost. 

He  who,  from  zone  to  zone, 
Guides  through  the  boundless  sky  thy  certain  flight, 
In  the  long  way  that  I  must  tread  alone 

Will  lead  my  steps  aright. 
6i 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

On  more  than  one  occasion  visitors  have 
thanked  me  for  having  left  them  these  good- 
night thoughts. 

Of  course,  being  a  cottage  in  the  midst  of  a 
flower-patch,  we  never  run  short  of  flowers,  and 
you  find  plenty  indoors.  When  they  are  in 
bloom,  however,  I  always  Uke  to  put  a  bunch  of 
white  moss  rose-buds  (one  of  my  favourite  flowers) 
in  a  blue  mug  on  a  visitor's  dressing-table. 

But  whatever  the  flowers,  it  is  our  custom  to 
welcome  all  guests  with  rosemary,  for  I  have 
discovered  that  the  scent  of  it  (even  the  sight  of 
it)  is  a  certain  cure  for  the  divers  maladies  caused 
by  overdoses  of  unsatisfactory  dressmakers,  cooks 
who  give  notice  every  month,  much  boredom  in 
crowded  unventilated  drawing-rooms,  and  all  the 
many  varieties  of  restlessness  that  have  been 
invented  to  help  women  to  kill  time.  It  has 
also  been  known  to  prove  efficacious  in  cases  of 
people  prone  to  overwork. 

At  any  rate,  if  you  come  to  visit  me  you  will 
find  a  vase  with  sprigs  of  rosemary  on  the  deep 
window-ledge  in  your  room ;  and  few  of  my 
friends  go  away  without  taking  a  sUp  from  the 
gnarled  bush  by  the  door  to  plant  in  less  con- 
genial surroundings. 

I  belie\e  Shakespeare  said  that  rosemary 
typifies  remembrance ;  Virginia  unblushingly 
improves  on  Shakespeare  by  insisting  that  it 
means  the  remembrance  of  peace. 

62 


IV 

Miss    Quirker — 

Incidentally 

Every  visit  to  the  cottage  seems  prefaced 
with  a  scramble.  Either  the  work  at  the  office 
suddenly  does  itself  up  in  a  tangle,  or  the 
domestic  arrangements  show  signs  of  incipient 
paralysis,  which  it  takes  all  my  available  energy 
to  avert,  or  else  it  is  people  who  inflict  them- 
selves upon  me  when  I'm  at  my  final  gasp 
without  a  moment,  or  a  single  company  smile, 
to  spare  for  anybody.  And  of  all  the  three 
forms  of  irritation,  the  uninvited  people  are  the 
worst ;  for  they  always  seem  to  absorb  the  last 
bit  of  vitality  left  me,  which  I  had  hoped  would 
just  carry  me  over  the  journey. 

There  is  Miss  Quirker,  for  instance.  You 
don't  know  Miss  Quirker  ?     How  I  envy  you  I 

I  can  best  describe  her  as  a  lady  well  over 
forty  (or  more),  who  apparently  hasn't  anything 
at  all  to  do,  and  who  does  it  thoroughly  well. 
She  has  a  couple  of  very  decided  and  conspicuous 
gifts — one  is  the  ability  to  waste  the  time  and 
dissipate  the  amiable  qualities  of  every  individual 
whose  path  she  crosses  ;  and  the  other  is  a 
positive  genius  for  saying  the  wrong  thing. 

I  was  near  the  window  writing  for  all  I  was 
worth,  when  she  knocked  at  the  door  and  inquired 

63 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

for  me,  adding,  "I  see  she  is  busy  writing,  but  if 
you  tell  her  who  it  is,  I  know  she'll  see  me.'"  Of 
course  I  had  to  see  her. 

She  entered  the  room  with  a  kittenish  little 
rush  and  scuffle,  that  is  by  no  means  the  happiest 
form  of  affectation  for  a  tall,  largely-built  woman, 
well  over  forty  (or  more). 

"  Ah  I  I've  found  you  in  at  last  "  (with  a 
roguish  wag  of  a  stiff  finger  in  a  size  too  small 
glove).  "  I  was  determined  to  see  you,  dear, 
though  Abigail  always  looks  so  forbidding  at 
the  door.  I  met  Miss  Virginia  shopping  just 
now,  and  I  asked  if  you  were  at  home.  She 
said  you  were  frightfully  busy,  nearly  off  your 
head  with  work,  as  you  were  leaving  town  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning.  So  I  said  at  once  : 
Then  of  course  I  must  go  round  and  call  on 
her  this  very  afternoon. 

**  She  said  she  wasn't  sure  that  you'd  be  in  if 
I  did,  but  I  said  I  should  chance  it — it's  such 
an  age  since  we've  met — why,  not  since  your 
engagement  was  announced  I  Now,  just  give 
me  an  account  of  yourself,  and  tell  me  all  about 
everything. 

•*  I  would  have  asked  Miss  Virginia,  but  1 
never  think  she  is  at  all  cordial,  or  perhaps 
I  should  say — sympathetic.  Indeed,  I  don't  think 
she  really  knew  me  at  first.  I  was  right  in  her 
path,  yet  she  seemed  to  look  through  me  !  But 
I  took  a  seat  next  to  her  at  the  lace  counter, 

64 


Miss  Quirker — 
Incidentailly 

and  spoke  to  her.  By  the  way,  is  she  deaf  ?  It 
was  so  strange  that  she  didn't  seem  to  hear  a 
quarter  of  the  questions  I  asked  her  about  you, 
so  I  really  got  next  to  no  information  from  her. 
It  was  so  funny  sometimes  that  I  almost  laughed 
— I've  such  a  sense  of  humour,  you  know.  For 
instance,  when  I  asked  her  what  she  thought  of 
your  fiancS  (you  know  you've  never  introduced 
me  to  him  yet !)  and  was  it  her  idea  of  a  suitable 
match,  and  was  he  tall  or  short,  she  replied : 
*  I  think  it  wonderful  value  considering,  and  it 
should  wear  well;  the  size  is  five  yards  round, 
so  I  had  better  have  six  yards  to  allow  for 
corners.'  And,  do  you  know,  I  was  some  minutes 
before  I  reahsed  that  she  wasn't  talking  about 
his  waist  measure,  but  an  afternoon  tea-cloth  for 
which  she  was  buying  the  lace.  She  evidently 
hadn't  heard  a  word  I  had  said.  And  so  I  raised 
my  voice  and  asked  her  what  part  he  had  come 
from,  as  I  knew  he  didn't  go  to  our  church.  She 
just  looked  at  me  and  replied :  '  Cluny ;  I  always 
think  Cluny  lace  washes  so  well,  don't  you  ?  ' 

"  You  see,  I  got  absolutely  nothing  out  of  her. 
In  fact,  I  wondered,  dear,  whether — of  course,  I 
know  you  don't  mind  me  speaking  quite  frankly 
— whether  there  had  been  any  little  rift — er — 
you  understand ;  of  course  I  know  you've  a 
wonderful  fund  of  patience,  only  those  two  girls 
always  seem  to  be  with  you,  and  though  I'm 
sure  you  wouldn't  tell  them  so,  yet  anyone  with 

65 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

the  very  slightest  tact  might  see  that  they  aren't 
wanted.     And  of  course  .... 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  do  think  as 
much  of  them  as  ever.  I  shouldn't  have  thought 
it ;  but  you  needn't  mind  telling  me  if  there  had 
been  a  little  coolness.  I'm  fairly  sharp  at  seeing 
through  a  stone  wall.  And  I  always  have  said 
that — personally,  mind  you — I  never  knew  two 
girls  less  .... 

"  Of  course,  we  won't  discuss  them  if  you'd 
rather  not.  As  you  know,  I  am  the  very  last 
one  to  want  to  introduce  a  disagreeable  topic. 
We'll  talk  about  you.  Turn  round  to  the  light, 
and  let  me  see  how  you  are  looking.  My  dear  I 
but  you  do  look  ill  1  I  I  don't  know  ichen  I've 
seen  you  look  so  utterly  washed  out  and 
anaemic.  .  .  . 

"  You  never  felt  better  in  your  life  ?  Well, 
I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  I'm  sure.  Oh,  I  see  what  it 
is,  it's  that  blue  dress  you  are  wearing  that  gives 
you  that  aged  and  sallow  look^a  very  trying 
colour,  isn't  it  ?  I  don't  think  anyone  ought  to 
wear  that  colour,  but  those  with  very  clear 
young-looking  complexions,  and  then  it  looks 
charming.  It  always  suited  me.  By  the  way, 
did  Madame  Delphine  make  that  dress  ?  .  .  .  I 
thought  so,  I  knew  it  the  minute  I  saw  you. 
It's  a  queer  thing,  but  I  have  never  yet  seen 
anyone  look  even  passable  in  a  dress  that  she 
has  made.     You  can't  exactly  say  that  it  doesn't 

66 


Miss  Quirker— 
Incidentally 

fit,  can  you  ?  It's  a  something — I  don't  know 
how  to  express  it — about  her  gowns  that  always 
strikes  me  as — well,  you  know  what  I  mean, 
don't  you  ?  And  that  dress  you've  got  on  looks 
just  like  that !  1  know  you  won't  mind  me 
speaking  quite  plainly  ;  you  see,  I've  known  you 
for  so  long,  and  I'm  not  one  to  flatter,  I  never 
was.  What  we  need  in  this  world  is  absolute 
sincerity;  don't  you  agree  with  me?  And  I 
always  think  it's  the  kindest  thing  when  you  see 
a  friend  in  anything  that  makes  her  look  plainer 
than  ever,  to  tell  her  so  at  once,  then  she  knows 
just  exactly  what  she  looks  like.  And,  after  all, 
other  people  are  the  best  judges  as  to  what  suits 
us.  We  can't  see  ourselves.  Mrs.  Ridley  was 
saying  at  the  Guild  '  At  Home '  at  the  Arch- 
deacon's the  other  day,  she  thought  you  were 
so  wise  to  stick  to  that  way  you  do  your  hair ; 
she  said  she  thought  it  suited  you,  considering 
that  .  .  .  ." 

Here  I  did  manage  to  interpolate  a  sarcastic 
regret  that  they  couldn't  find  a  more  interesting 
topic  of  conversation ! 

'•  Oh,  yes,  we  had  other  more  interesting 
things  to  talk  about,  dear,  but  Mrs.  Archdeacon 
had  your  photo  on  the  table,  and  the  Archdeacon 
said  something  about  you,  I  forget  what — nothing 
of  any  importance — and  that  was  the  only  reason 
we  mentioned  you.  I  said  I  thought  perhaps 
you  did  it  that  way  because  it  was  a  little  thin 

67 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

just  there.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  know  you  used  to  have  a 
lot  of  hair,  dear ;  but  some  people's  hair  does 
come  out,  and  a  pad  doesn't  look  so  well  any- 
where else.  .  .  . 

"  It's  all  your  own  hair  ?    You  don't  wear 

Well,  I  am  surprised  1  1  should  never  have 
thought  it  1 1  I  don't  mean  that  it  looks  much 
in  any  case,  but  I  always  concluded  that  you 
wore 

*'  Oh,  how  delightful !  I'll  confess  I  was 
longing  for  a  cup  of  tea.  .  .  .  Yes,  three  lumps 
and  plenty  of  milk.  I  always  say  it  makes  up 
for  any  deficiencies  in  the  tea,  if  one  has  lots  of 
milk.  .  .  .  China  tea,  is  it  ?  I  thought  so.  I 
dare  say  it's  all  right  for  those  who  Hke  it.  And, 
of  course,  if  you  tell  people  what  it  is,  they 
understand  why  it  looks  so  poor.  .  .  . 

"  On  no  account ;  don't  think  of  having  some 
Indian  tea  made  specially  for  me.  I  can  quite 
well  make  this  do,  because  I'm  going  straight 
home  after  I  leave  you,  and  tea  will  be  waiting 
for  me,  and  I  shall  have  a  good  cup  first 
thing.  .  .  . 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  will  have  another  sandwich, 
even  though  it  is  the  third  time  of  asking.  These 
make  me  think  of  the  Guild  *At  Home'  last 
week.  You  ought  to  have  been  there.  The 
Archdeacon  makes  such  a  delightful  host  and 
the  sandwiches  1 — well,  I  can't  tell  you  what  they 
were  like ;   literally  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 

68 


Miss  Quirker — 
Incidentally 

them,  and  such  delicious  filling ;  all  cut  in  their 
own  kitchen,  too.  You  really  should  get  Mrs. 
Archdeacon  to  tell  you  what  her  cook  put  in 
them ;  you'd  never  touch  one  of  these  ordinary 
ones  again,  once  you  had  tasted  hers. 

"  But  what  I  would  like  to  know  is,  what 
does  she  do  with  all  the  crusts  ?  Mrs.  Ridley 
thought  that  perhaps  they  made  them  up  into 
savoury  puddings ;  only,  as  I  said  to  her :  How 
about  those  with  fish  in  them  ?  She  said  that 
perhaps  they  kept  them  separate  when  cutting ; 
but  I  know  the  shuffling  ways  of  cooks  better  than 
that !     I  never  kept  one,  and  I  never  will.  .  .  . 

"  I  must  certainly  try  the  cake  if  you  made 
it  yourself.  I  seldom  get  time  to  do  any  cooking 
myself,  though  I'm  a  very  good  hand  at  cakes. 
But  you've  secretaries  to  take  everything  off 
your  hands  ;  you  must  have  lots  of  spare  time." 

(A  moment's  pause  while  she  tries  the  cake.) 

"  Have  you  ever  used  the  Busy  Bee  Flour 
Sifter  ?  No  ?  Then  I  should  strongly  advise 
you  to  get  one.  I  should  think  that  might  help 
you  to  make  a  lighter  cake ;  or  do  you  think 
you  put  in  enough  baking  powder  ?  But  there, 
some  people  have  a  light  hand  with  cakes,  and 
some  haven't.  I  don't  think  anything  makes 
any  difference  if  you  haven't.  It's  just  Uke 
plants,  isn't  it — they  always  grow  well  for  those 
who  love  them.  Your  ferns  aren't  looking  very 
bright,  are  they  ?  .  .  . 

69 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  Oh,  don't  you  like  the  ends  of  the  fronds 
rubbed  ?  .  .  .  I  see,  they  were  given  you  by 
your  fiancd,  and  naturally  they  are  the  apple  of 
your  eye.  That  reminds  me,  you  haven't  shown 
me  his  portrait  yet.     I'm  longing  to  see  it.  .  .  . 

"  Is  that  the  gentleman  !  Well !  he's  the  very 
last  man  in  the  world  I  should  have  chosen  for 
you  I     Not  a  bit  like  what  I  pictured.  .  .  . 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that  there's  anything 
wrong  with  him,  only — er — he  doesn't  look  a 
scrap  Hke  the  man  you  would  become  engaged 
to.  .  .  . 

"  W^ell,  I  don't  know  that  I  can  exactly 
describe  the  type  of  man  I  expected.  I  thought 
he  would  be  tall  and 

"  He  is  ?  Over  six  feet  ?  Well,  he  doesn't 
look  it  from  his  photo,  does  he  ?  .  .  . 

"  That's  true ;  a  vignetted  head  doesn't  show 
the  full  height.  But  apart  from  that,  I  expected 
an  artistic  sort  of  man.  .  .  . 

"  He  is  ?  Really  !  And  then  I  should  have 
pictured  him  rather — er — well,  Napoleonic,  and 
with  that  far-away  poetic  fire  in  his  eyes  that 
carries  you  off  your  feet  to  untold  heights.  .  .  . 

"  No,  of  course  I  don't  mean  an  aviator  1  I 
mean  a — but  it  isn't  easy  to  put  it  into  words ; 
only  you  can't  think  how  disap — how  surprised 
I  am  to  see  a  little  man.  .  .  . 

*'  Of  course,  I  remember  you  did  say  he  was 
tall  and  well  made.     But  there,  handsome  is  as 

70 


Miss  Quirker— 
Incidentally 

handsome  does  ;  and,  after  all,  I've  heard  that  it 
is  often  the  plainest  and  most  uninteresting- 
looking  men  that  turn  out  the  best  in  the  end. 

I  can  only  hope  that  it  will  be  so  in  your 

"  Why,  I  declare !  Here's  Miss  Virginia  ! 
How  d'y'do  ?  We've  been  talking  about  you 
all  the  afternoon.  Well,  I  really  must  be  going, 
and  I  simply  won't  listen  to  any  of  your  per- 
suasions to  stay  longer.  I've  brightened  her  up 
nicely.  Miss  Virginia ;  she  was  looking  ever  so 
gloomy  when  I  called.     Good-bye,  dear.     Good- 

bye,  Miss  Virginia."  ^  .    ,^.     ^   .  , 

iLiXit  Miss  Lluirker. 

What  we  said  after  she  had  gone  had  better 
not  be  recorded !  My  own  remarks  may  not 
have  been  quite  cordial ;  but  I  know  that  Vir- 
ginia's were  even  worse — if  that  were  possible. 

But  though  visitations  such  as  these,  when 
bestowed  upon  me  at  the  eleventh  hour,  always 
reduce  me  mentally  to  a  sort  of  bran-mash  (and 
Virginia  says  she  can't  see  why  anybody  need 
bother  a  government  to  import  pulp  nowadays, 
considering  the  state  of  her  brain,  to  say  nothing 
of  those  of  other  people  who  shall  be  nameless), 
the  sight  of  the  garden  makes  me  human  once 
more,  and  by  sunset  the  silence  of  the  hills 
has  so  restored  my  soul,  that  the  sun  seldom, 
if  ever,  goes  down  upon  my  wrath. 

After  tea,  there  will  probably  be  two  hours 
71  F 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

of  daylight  for  watering  the  garden.  Even 
though  the  sun  has  dropped  behind  the  opposite 
hills,  it  is  light  up  here  on  the  hill-top  long  after 
the  valley  has  gone  to  sleep ;  and  when  the  sun 
has  really  set,  there  is  a  long  and  lovely  twilight. 

Indoors  and  out  there  is  absolute  peace. 
The  grandfather's  clock  ticks  with  that  slow 
deliberation  that  is  so  soothing ;  even  the 
preliminary  rumble  it  gives  before  striking  is 
never  irritating — you  feel  it  is  a  concession  due 
to  advanced  age. 

Through  the  open  window  float  in  the  scents 
of  thousands  of  flowers  that  are  feeling  unspeak- 
ably grateful  for  the  liberal  watering  the  girls 
have  been  giving  them  ;  you  cannot  distinguish 
any  one  in  particular ;  one  moment  you  think 
it  is  the  sweet  briar,  then  you  are  sure  it  is  the 
white  lilies,  then  the  breeze  brings  the  breath 
of  the  honeysuckles  that  are  climbing  trees  and 
hedges,  till  the  whole  air  is  laden  with  perfume. 

Up  the  garden  white  dresses  are  seen  among 
the  borders. 

"  There,  I  believe  we've  done  everything  but 
that  upper  bed  of  hollyhocks,  and  they  won't 
hurt  for  to-night."  Virginia  sounds  as  though 
she  had  been  working  hard. 

"  Now  the  tent,"  calls  out  Ursula.  And  we 
all  make  a  stampede  to  the  bottom  of  the  lower 
orchard,  and  with  a  few  dexterous  turns  the 
tent  is  down  and  folded  up ;  for  though  the  trees 

72 


Miss  Quirker— 
Incidentally 

may  be  motionless  now,  the  wind  springs  up  at 
any  moment  on  these  hills,  and  once  you  hear  it 
soughing  in  the  tops  of  the  big  fir-trees  in  the 
garden  you  will  realise  the  advantage  of  having 
the  tent  indoors  ! 

As  you  saunter  up  the  garden,  back  to  the 
house,  crushing  the  sweet-odoured  black  pepper- 
mint in  the  grass  underfoot,  the  stars  seem  very 
near.  The  cottage  looks  like  a  toy,  with  the 
Ught  shining  from  each  little  window.  And  as 
you  cross  the  threshold  into  the  living-room,  the 
log  fire  flashes  and  gleams  (a  fire  is  acceptable 
up  here  after  sundown,  even  in  the  summer), 
and  everything  smiles  with  such  a  cosy  welcome, 
till  brass  candlesticks  and  cups  and  jugs  and  the 
homely  willow  patterns  on  the  dresser,  all  seem 
to  say,  "  We  are  so  glad  you've  come." 


73  F  2 


V 

The  Geography  of 

the   Flower-Patch 

The  first  night  at  this  cottage  you  may  lie 
awake,  if  you  are  a  stranger  to  these  hills,  almost 
awed  by  the  silence.  Gradually  you  realise  that 
the  silence  is  not  actual  absence  of  sound.  In 
May  and  early  June  the  nightingales  trill  in  the 
trees  around ;  or  you  will  hear  the  owls  calling 
to  one  another  in  the  woods — a  trifle  weird  if 
you  do  not  know  what  it  is.  At  another  time 
it  is  the  corn-crake ;  or  the  wind  brings  you  the 
bleating  of  lambs  down  in  the  valley.  As  you 
listen  longer,  you  hear  the  tinkle,  tinkle  of  the 
little  spring  that  tumbles  out  of  a  small  spout 
into  a  ferny  well  outside  the  garden  gate. 

You  take  a  final  look  out  of  the  window  to 
where,  miles  away  in  the  distance,  a  lighthouse 
flashes  at  fixed  intervals.  It  seems  strangely 
companionable,  even  though  it  is  so  far  off. 
And  then  you  close  your  eyes — unconscious  that 
you  have  fallen  asleep — only  to  open  them  again 
in  a  minute,  as  you  think.    Someone  is  speaking. 

You  detect  Ursula's  voice  in  a  stage  whisper 
through  the  keyhole. 

"  I  say — aren't  you  ever  going  to  get  up  ?  " 

You  rub  your  eyes.  It  certainly  is  morning  ! 
And  you  such  a  poor  sleeper,  possibly  one  of 
those  who  "  never  had  a  wink  of  sleep  all  night, 

74 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

and  such  horrid  dreams."  The  plaintive  voice 
continues  at  the  keyhole  : 

"  I  planted  out  nine  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
wallflower  seedlings  yesterday,  and  I  want  to 
cover  them  up  with  fern  before  the  sun  gets 
too  strong.  If  you'll  get  up  you  can  gather 
the  bracken,  while  I  creep  around  on  all  fours 
covering  them  up.  See  ?  Virginia  is  busy 
thinning  out  the  turnips.  And  SHE  is  never 
any  good  at  getting  up  early,  you  know  !  " 

I  regret  to  say  this  last  scornful  reference  is^ 
to  me ! 

And  now  when  you  look  out  of  the  little 
bedroom  window  again,  to  the  accompaniment 
of  an  early  cup  of  tea,  what  a  change  has  taken 
place  since  yesterday  !  Last  night  the  ranges  of 
opposite  hills,  with  the  sun  setting  behind  them, 
looked  vague  and  mysterious  with  shadows. 
This  morning  the  sun  is  full  on  them,  but  now 
there  is  another  mystery — or  so  it  seems  to  those 
who  see  it  for  the  first  time. 

Instead  of  looking  down  into  the  green  tree- 
clad  valley  to  where  the  river  winds  along  at  the 
base  of  the  steep  hills,  you  now  look  down  on  to 
a  bank  of  solid  white — the  mist  that  rises  up 
at  night  and  fills  the  lower  part  of  the  valley, 
reminding  one  of  the  mist  that  went  up  from 
the  earth  in  the  first  Garden,  "  and  watered  the 
whole  face  of  the  ground." 

75 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

With  the  sun  on  it,  the  mist  gives  back  a 
dazzhng  Ught.  And  then  slowly,  slowly,  the 
whole  white  bank  in  the  valley  lifts  silently  and 
wonderfully ;  up  and  up  it  goes  in  a  solid  mass, 
and  as  the  higher  parts  of  the  hills,  which  were 
previously  in  sunshine,  are  temporarily  hidden 
by  the  uprising  mass,  so  the  lower  part  of  the 
valley  gradually  becomes  visible,  first  only  a  strip 
at  the  very  bottom,  then  more  and  more  as  the 
white  curtain  is  raised.  Finally  the  white  mass 
disappears  and  joins  its  fellows  in  the  sky  above, 
a  fragment  of  cloud  lingering  sometimes  a  little 
below  the  summit  of  the  highest  hill.  If  the 
day  is  going  to  be  fine,  this  last  trail  of  silvery 
cloud  disappears,  and  then  the  sun  lights  up  the 
woods  and  the  upland  meadows,  showing  you 
distant  cottages  and  far-off  farmhouses  where 
you  saw  nothing  but  tremulous  shadows  the 
night  before. 

However  often  one  looks  upon  this  sight,  the 
marvel  never  lessens,  and  the  "  simple  scientific 
explanation,"  which  every  learned  person  who 
visits  this  cottage  pours  over  the  breakfast-table, 
is  quite  unnecessary.  Scientific  explanations  are 
admirable  for  cities,  but  when  we  set  foot  on 
these  hills,  it  is  just  sufficient  for  us  that  Nature 
"  is." 

One  drawback  about  this  cottage  is  the  fact 
that  one's  poetic   thoughts  and  soulful  dreams 

76 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

are  constantly  being  interrupted  by  things 
material,  more  especially  those  appertaining  to 
food  !  And  even  as  you  are  gazing  out  of  the 
window  at  the  glorious  scenery  all  around  you, 
there  arises  the  odour  of  frizzling  ham  (that 
originally  ran  about,  uncooked,  in  a  field  lower 
down),  fried  potatoes  (the  good  old-fashioned 
sort  done  in  the  frying-pan),  coffee,  and  other 
hungry  things ;  and  you  find  to  your  surprise 
that  a  substantial  breakfast  is  on  the  table  by 
eight  o'clock,  though  (and  this  is  where  guests 
bless  their  hostess)  no  one  need  get  up  to  break- 
fast, if  they  prefer  to  have  it  in  bed,  for  very 
tired  people  come  here  sometimes. 

But  it  does  not  matter  what  nervous  wrecks 
Virginia  and  Ursula  may  have  landed  at  the 
door  overnight,  the  first  morning  sees  them  up 
with  the  lark  and  out  gardening  ;  and  one  of  the 
earliest  sounds  you  hear  is  the  clink  of  the  brown 
pitcher  on  the  stones,  as  Virginia  sets  it  down 
after  filling  it  at  the  little  spring  outside  the 
garden  gate.  This  is  a  thirsty  garden ;  it  is 
everywhere  on  the  slope,  remember,  and  is  com- 
posed of  the  lightest  soil  imaginable  with  rock 
everywhere  beneath.  As  fast  as  you  put  water 
on  it,  it  runs  away  downhill ;  hence,  a  moment's 
leisure,  morning  or  evening,  always  means  some 
pitchers  of  water  for  the  garden. 

All  the  cottages  on  the  hillside  seem  to  have 
been  built  in  the  same  way.     Someone  evidently 

n 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

hunted  about  for  a  few  feet  of  land  where  it  was 
shghtly  less  sloping  than  the  rest,  and  within 
reach  of  a  spring  of  water,  and  this  plot  he 
levelled  a  bit  by  excavating  the  big  boulders  and 
smaller  stones  which  make  up  our  substratum, 
and  often  the  top-stratum  too.  Then  if  the  piece 
of  land  wasn't  quite  large  enough,  he  cut  away 
part  of  the  hill  behind,  banking  it  up  with  some 
of  the  biggest  of  the  boulders,  to  keep  it  from 
tumbhng  down  on  to  the  piece  he  had  cleared. 

Next  he  excavated  more  rocky  pieces  from 
the  up-and-down  land  around  his  clearing  ;  this 
gave  him  a  bit  of  clean  ground  for  a  garden,  and 
also  provided  him  with  enough  stone  to  build  his 
habitation.  Any  stone  he  might  have  over  he 
made  into  a  wall  around  his  plot,  by  the  simple 
process  of  piling  one  piece  on  top  of  another. 
That,  apparently,  is  all  man  does  to  the  place. 
Then  Nature  sets  to  work ;  and,  oh,  what  festoons 
of  loveliness  she  flings  over  all ! 

As  several  different  owners  have  had  a  hand 
at  my  particular  cottage,  the  garden  has  been 
extended  in  various  directions,  but  always  re- 
quiring stone  walls  to  prop  it  up.  Hence  you 
get  a  moderately  level  patch,  with  a  drop  of 
four  or  six  feet  over  the  edge  of  the  garden-bed. 

A  few  rough  stone  steps  take  you  down  to 
the  next  level,  where  there  is  another  bit  of 
garden,  the  steps  themselves  sprouting  in  every 
chink,  with  wild   strawberry,   primroses,  ferns, 

78 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

columbines,  and  a  stray  Canterbury  bell.  In 
this  way  the  cottage  is  surrounded  with  steps 
going  up  or  going  down,  with  a  flower-bed 
running  along  here,  and  some  more  a  few  feet 
lower  down ;  another  terrace  of  flowers  and 
some  more  steps  (nearly  smothered  with  big 
periwinkle,  these  are)  take  you  down  to  an 
absurd  lawn,  that  some  enterprising  person 
levelled  up  so  delightfully  on  the  tilt  that 
neither  chair  nor  table  will  remain  where  you 
place  it  I  If  they  roll  far  enough,  they  go  over 
the  edge  of  the  lawn,  a  drop  of  about  twenty 
feet,  into  the  lower  orchard  !  Nevertheless,  this 
lawn  is  popular,  because  it  is  edged  at  one  side 
with  white  and  pink  moss  rose-trees. 

Thus  perhaps  you  can  picture  it — big  beds 
and  little  beds,  some  running  one  way,  some 
spreading  out  in  another  direction ;  sometimes 
large  patches  where  flowers  grow  by  the  quarter- 
acre  ;  sometimes  Httle  scraps  and  corners  no 
bigger  than  a  hearth-rug,  where  we  managed  to 
dig  out  some  more  stones,  and  make  a  further 
bit  of  clearing.  But  everywhere  you  go  there 
are  the  big  plateaux  or  httle  terraces  supported 
by  massive  grey  stone  walls,  which  vary  from 
two  to  twenty  feet  in  height,  according  to  the 
amount  of  hillside  they  are  required  to  prop 
up. 

And  how  these  walls  bloom  !  Ivy  and  moss 
and  ferns  seem  to  love  them,  for  all  the  local  walls 

79 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

sprout  ferns  without  any  apparent  provocation, 
and  the  walls  about  this  garden  are  no  exception. 

But,  in  addition,  white  arabis  hangs  over  in 
cascades,  in  the  spring,  and  you  see  then  why 
the  country  people  call  it  "  Snow-on-the-Moun- 
tains " ;  and  mingling  with  the  white  is  the 
exquisite  mauve  variety ;  wallflowers  of  lovely 
colouring,  rose  pink,  deep  purple,  pale  primrose, 
bright  orange,  as  well  as  the  richly-streaked 
brown-and-yellow  flowers,  bloom  gaily  on  the 
rocky  ledges;  snapdragons  flower  later,  with 
nasturtiums,  and  even  some  blue-eyed  forget-me- 
nots  have  sown  themselves  up  there,  and  bloom 
with  the  rest.  Honesty  plants  have  established 
themselves  in  the  crevices  ;  masses  of  wild  Herb 
Robert  have  been  allowed  to  remain ;  and 
carpeting  everything  are  all  manner  of  sedums, 
and  Alpine  and  ice  plants,  some  with  grey-green 
foUage  and  ruby-coloured  stems,  some  with 
white  flowers,  some  with  crimson  ;  and  in  the 
hottest  places  there  are  clumps  of  houseleeks 
looking  sturdy  and  homely. 

Certain  weeks  in  the  year  the  tops  of  some  of 
the  walls  are  a  golden  mass  when  the  yellow 
stonecrop  is  in  bloom  ;  but  whatever  the  season, 
there  is  always  something  to  look  at — something 
holding  up  a  brave  head  and  preaching  as  loudly 
as  ever  a  plant  can  preach  of  the  advantages  of 
making  the  best  of  your  surroundings. 

Does  the  wall  face  a  sunless  north?  Very 
80 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

well ;  out  come  the  ferns  and  up  creeps  the  ivy ; 
the  Rock  Stonecrop,  with  its  blue-green  stems 
and  leaves  (looking  almost  like  a  huge  moss)  fills 
every  shady  spot  it  can  find,  seemingly  appearing 
from  nowhere. 

Is  the  wall  sunny  ?  All  right ;  the  wallflowers 
laugh  at  you,  pinks  climb  over  the  top  edge,  just 
to  see  what  is  going  on  down  below ;  one  baking 
spot  supports  a  mass  of  sage  about  a  yard  and  a 
half  in  diameter,  a  smother  of  blue  flowers  in  the 
summer ;  no  one  planted  it,  it  just  came  !  A 
red  ribis  has  hooked  itself  in  at  one  spot ;  what 
it  lives  on  I  don't  know  ;  while  white,  mauve  and 
purple  Honesty  seeds  itself  everywhere,  making 
a  brave  show  of  colour  in  the  spring.  In  fact, 
white  and  mauve  are  the  prevailing  colours  on 
the  walls  in  April. 

Later  on  you  may  expect — and  will  find — 
anything ;  for  annuals  and  bi-annuals  seed  them- 
selves, continually  dropping  the  seed  to  a  lower 
level ;  hence  there  is  always  a  self-planted  garden 
bed  at  the  base  of  each  wall,  reminiscent  of  what 
was  growing  above  the  season  before. 

On  the  shady  side  of  one  waU,  we  have  made 
a  moss  garden — it  was  Virginia's  idea,  and  she 
takes  a  very  special  pride  in  it,  adding  new  sorts 
whenever  she  finds  them.  Hence  you  wiU  some- 
times find  her  coming  home  from  a  ramble, 
carrying  a  huge  stone  with  her,  or  lugging  along 
a  veritable  boulder.     In  this  way  she  brings  the 

8i 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

moss  home,  local  habitation  and  all,  annexing 
any  stone  she  sees  (a  wild  stone,  of  course,  not 
a  tame  one  from  someone's  garden  wall)  that 
bears  a  promising  crop  of  some  new  variety. 

As  a  result,  she  fairly  bulges  with  pride  when- 
ever she  exhibits  the  moss  garden,  and  explains 
how  much  of  it  is  her  own  particular  handiwork. 

We  have  not  yet  settled  whether  she  ought 
to  pay  me  rent  for  my  wall  that  she  uses  for  her 
moss  garden,  or  I  ought  to  pay  her  wages  for 
moss-gardening  my  wall. 

One  characteristic  of  this  garden  is  an  ever- 
changing  show  of  colour.  It  varies  according  to 
the  season,  but  whatever  the  time  of  year  there 
are  usually  gorgeous  splashes  of  colour  that 
make  you  stand  and  wonder. 

Do  not  forget  that  this  is  only  a  cottage 
garden,  even  though  it  is  a  roomy  one.  I  hope 
you  are  not  picturing  to  yourself  an  orthodox 
country-house  garden,  with  expanses  of  well-kept 
lawns,  with  proper-looking  beds  of  geraniums, 
and  lordly  pampas  grass  at  intervals,  and  well- 
groomed  rose-bushes  in  tidy  beds,  and  correct 
herbaceous  borders,  and  beds  of  begonias  and 
heliotropes  planted  out  from  the  greenhouses, 
and  all  the  other  nice-mannered,  polite  flowers 
that  every  well-paid,  certificated  gardener  con- 
scientiously insists  on  planting  in  exactly  the 
same  way  all  the  country  over. 

This  garden  grows  a  little  of  everything,  and 
82 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

a  great  deal  of  some  things,  and  when  you  look 
at  it  you  might  easily  imagine  that  everything 
had  planted  itself  just  where  it  pleased.  The 
garden  is  not  tidy,  for  the  things  are  constantly 
growing  over  each  other,  and  then  out  across 
the  paths.  Moreover,  it  lacks  someone  there  all 
the  time  to  keep  it  tidy  ;  the  ministrations  of 
the  handy  man  are  decidedly  erratic.  But  at 
least  it  is  bright,  always  bright,  and  you  can 
pick  as  many  flowers  as  you  please — handfuls, 
armfuls,  apronfuls — with  no  fear  of  an  autocratic 
gardener  glaring  at  you ;  and  the  flowers  will 
never  be  missed. 

In  the  spring  wallflowers  predominate,  every 
colour  that  the  modern  varieties  produce. 
Ursula's  remark  that  she  had  planted  over  nine 
hundred  seedlings  was  well  within  the  mark.  A 
thousand  or  two  of  wallflower  seedlings  do  not 
go  very  far  in  this  garden,  because  at  one  time 
of  the  year  the  place  appears  to  be  a  waving 
mass  of  wallflowers  from  end  to  end. 

And  have  you  any  idea  what  the  scent  is 
like  when  you  have  thousands  of  wallflowers 
smiling  on  a  sunny  spring  morning  ? 

But  there  are  all  sorts  of  oddments,  some 
things  you  do  not  expect  and  some  things  you 
do.  The  cowslip  bed  is  very  pretty.  Here  are 
yellow,  orange,  copper-coloured  and  mahogany 
brown  cowslips ;  pale-coloured  oxlips,  and  poly- 
anthuses in  as  many  shades  as  the  wallflowers, 

83 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

from  rosy  red  to  dark  purple-brown  with  every 
petal  edged  with  bright  yellow  as  though  they 
had  been  buttonholed  round. 

There  is  no  need  to  cultivate  primroses  in 
the  garden  beds,  for  the  two  orchards  are  thick 
with  them  ;  where  there  are  also  large  patches  of 
wild  snowdrops  with  crowds  of  wild  daffodils, 
and  dancing  wind-flowers — or  wood  anemones  ; 
while  tall  spikes  of  the  pale  mauve  spotted  orchises 
grow  in  the  grass  around  the  edge  near  the  walls. 

Before  the  wallflowers  have  finished  flowering 
the  tuUps  are  out,  the  old-fashioned  "  cottage 
tulips,"  many  of  them,  tall  and  with  large  cup- 
Uke  flowers — pink  and  crimson,  brown  and 
yellow,  showy  "parrots,"  and  delicate  mauve 
feathered  with  white,  purple-black,  deep  maroon  ; 
such  a  brilliant  army  those  tulips  make,  with 
hundreds  of  them  in  bloom  at  once. 

Before  the  tulip  petals  have  fallen,  the  peonies 
have  opened  out  great  heavy  heads  of  flowers 
that  can't  keep  upright.  The  scarlet  oriental 
poppies  with  their  blue-black  centres  make  masses 
of  colour  that  have  to  be  kept  very  much  to 
themselves  or  they  kill  every  other  flower  within 
reach ;  these  are  therefore  planted  near  the 
clumps  of  white  irises,  and  the  deep  blue  and 
pure  white  perennial  lupins,  that  make  a 
beautiful  show  all  down  one  border. 

Speaking  of  lupins  reminds  me  of  the  tree- 
lupins.     Virginia  brought  some  harmless-looking 

84 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

little  plants  with  her  one  year,  remembering  my 
love  for  lupins. 

"  These  are  tree-lupins,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sure 
I  don't  know  what  they  will  grow  into,  but  the 
man  said  they  were  just  like  lupins,  only  much 
more  so ;  therefore  I  bought  them.  Don't  blame 
me  if  they  die." 

She  planted  them  comfortably  and  cosily  in 
a  bed  along  with  white  foxgloves  and  pink  pent- 
stemons,  all  the  members  of  this  happy  family 
looking  about  the  same  size. 

The  following  year  when  Virginia  visited  the 
cottage  she  asked, "  Where  are  my  tree-lupins  ?  " 
She  was  shown  great  bushes  each  the  size  of  a 
round  dining-table,  and  each  holding  aloft  hun- 
dreds of  yellow  spikes,  and  filling  the  air  with 
the  scent  of  a  bean-field.  There  were  the  tree- 
lupins  all  right !  But  where  were  the  foxgloves 
and  pentstemons  ? 

Perhaps  you  think  there  must  be  large,  dull 
spaces  when  the  wallflowers  cease  blooming, 
but  in  between  the  wallflower  plants  are  others 
coming  on,  and  by  the  time  the  wallflowers  have 
finished — and  are  ready  to  be  pulled  up — these 
beds  are  filling  with  sweet  williams  and  snap- 
dragons. The  young  plants  were  there,  and 
they  come  into  bloom  as  the  wallflowers  finish. 
And  then,  where  only  a  short  time  before  there 
were  beds  all  purples  and  yellows  and  browns, 

85 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

you  have  now  reds  and  pinks  and  every  shade 
of  rosy  tint  that  the  bright  eyes  of  the  sweet 
wilHams  can  produce. 

The  snapdragons  once  played  a  joke  on  the 
garden.  I  was  ordering  some  seeds  from  Sutton's, 
and  said,  "  I  want  some  very  hardy  snapdragons, 
that  will  stand  being  planted  in  the  windiest  part 
of  the  garden  where  nothing  of  any  height  will 
grow."  The  seeds  were  guaranteed  to  grow  in 
the  most  uprooting  of  hurricanes. 

In  due  time  the  seedlings  appeared  above 
ground,  and  Ursula  devoted  several  back-aching 
evenings  to  planting  them  out  into  the  wind- 
swept beds.  By  the  middle  of  the  following 
summer  those  jaunty  snapdragons  had  each 
grown  six  feet  high,  and  there,  waving  in  that 
exposed  place,  where  any  well-conducted  plant 
would  have  sternly  refused  to  grow  more  than 
a  foot  high,  was  a  plantation  of  great  flowers, 
each  tied  to  a  stout  stake  like  hollyhocks,  and 
the  blooms  seemed  to  have  outgrown  their 
normal  size  just  as  the  rest  of  the  plants  had 
done. 

Of  course,  people  came  from  ever  so  far  to 
gaze  at  these  snapdragons ;  and  unbelievers 
surreptitiously  pulled  out  tape-measures  and 
two-foot  rules,  and  one  and  all,  after  meditating 
seriously  on  the  subject,  and  looking  at  it  from 
all  points  of  view,  would  finally  shake  their  heads 
and  say,  "  Well,  I'll  just  tell  you  what  it  is — the 

S6 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

place  evidently  suits  them."  We  never  got  any 
further  than  that ! 

By  every  law  and  reason  known  to  properly- 
trained  gardeners  and  horticulturists,  this  garden 
ought  to  be  able  to  produce  nothing  but  low- 
growing  flowers  and  shrubs.  Every  local  resident 
kindly  volunteered  this  information  directly  he 
or  she  set  eyes  on  the  cottage  ;  they  said  it  was 
too  high  up,  too  bleak  in  winter,  too  exposed,  too 
dry,  too  rocky,  or  too  glaringly  sunny — for  any- 
thing above  six  inches  high  to  have  a  chance 
in  it. 

And  yet  Nature  goes  on  laughing  at  the 
pessimists,  and  so  do  those  who  tend  this  flower- 
patch.  And  the  columbines,  yellow,  pink,  pale 
blue,  purple,  and  white,  send  up  tall  heads  of 
flower.  The  coreopsis  plants  grow  so  big  and 
bushy  they  have  to  be  staked.  The  cornflowers, 
a  streak  of  blue  at  the  end  of  the  cabbage  bed, 
are  taller  than  the  broad  beans  adjoining.  Then 
there  are  the  hollyhocks  and  the  larkspurs — these 
hold  their  heads  as  high  as  anyone  could  desire, 
and  the  tall  red  salvias  are  not  far  behind.  The 
foxgloves  are  also  a  brave  sight  (though  I  do  not 
include  in  this  category  those  that  are  buried 
under  the  tree-lupins !). 

Of  course,  there  are  low-growing  things  in  the 
garden  as  well  as  the  more  lofty-minded.  There 
is  one  bed  that  is  a  ramping  mass  of  giant 
mimulus  of  various  colours.     Convolvulus  minor 

d,7  G 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

spreads  about  the  ground  in  one  of  the  white  lily 
beds ;  and  eschscholtzias  cover  the  earth  for 
another  row  of  lilies.  Pansies  rove  about  at  their 
own  sweet  will  in  this  garden,  and  the  old- 
fashioned  white  pinks  and  the  pink  variety  spread 
themselves  out  over  the  big  stones  that  edge  the 
borders. 

The  mignonette  bed  has  a  row  of  lavenders 
at  the  side,  and  mounds  of  nasturtiums  grow 
where  the  earth  is  too  rocky  and  barren  to 
support  anything  else. 

Naturally,  there  are  hedges  of  sweet  peas; 
sometimes  they  are  heavy  with  flowers,  some- 
times the  slugs  or  birds  settle  the  matter  at  the 
beginning  of  the  season.  One  hedge  runs  along 
at  the  back  of  the  herb  garden,  and  the  herbs 
have  so  spread  themselves  out  that  the  sweet 
peas  were  getting  swamped.  Virginia  has  been 
cutting  them  back. 

Do  you  know  what  the  scent  of  cut  herbs  is 
like  on  a  hot  summer  day,  with  sweet  peas  in  the 
background  ?  In  this  herb  garden  there  is  sage, 
with  its  lovely  blue  flowers,  lemon  thyme,  silver 
thyme,  savory,  hyssop,  lavender,  rosemary,  rue, 
balm,  marjoram,  black  peppermint,  spearmint 
and  parsley. 

In  this  bed  also  grows  the  old-time  bergamot, 
with  its  heavily-scented  leaves  and  lovely  tufts  of 
crimson  flowers. 

But  though  one  part  of  the  garden  is  set 
88 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

apart  for  herbs  and  another  for  vegetables,  you 
must  not  imagine  that  they  are  only  to  be  found 
there.  Fine  clumps  of  parsley  have  planted 
themselves  in  among  the  annual  larkspurs  ;  mint 
persists  in  running  riot  among  the  pink  and 
white  mallows  (but  the  mint  family  never  re- 
mains quietly  at  home) ;  a  sturdy  scarlet  runner 
comes  up,  year  after  year,  beside  a  great  bush  of 
gum  cistus,  which  makes  me  think  it  might  be 
treated  as  a  perennial ;  it  seems  impossible  to 
get  the  artichokes  to  part  company  with  the 
Michaelmas  daisies,  while  raspberry  canes  shoot 
up  among  the  old-fashioned  red  fuchsia  bushes ; 
radishes  are  flourishing  like  the  green  bay-tree 
underneath  the  sweetbriar  ;  a  regiment  of 
pickling  onions  is  living  on  most  neighbourly 
terms  with  a  row  of  cup-and-saucer  Canterbury 
bells ;  and  as  for  rhubarb — well,  what  can  you 
expect  when  one  man,  whom  I  employed  for  a 
brief  spell,  remarked : 

"  You'll  see  where  I've  put  in  that  thur  special 
rubbub,  miss,  because  I've  planted  a  traveller's 
joy  a- top  of  he  to  mark  the  spot." 

Cupid's  Border  is  another  section  of  this 
garden  that  may  interest  you.  Here  you  natur- 
ally find  Love-in-a-mist  and  Love-lies-bleeding. 
The  flowers  which  the  country  folks  call  Love- 
lockets  dangle  pink  and  white  from  their  graceful 
curving  stems ;   (alas,  in  catalogues  and  places 

89  G  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

where  they  know,  this  plant  is  merely  regarded 
as  dielytra).  In  this  border  you  of  course  find 
forget-me-nots  "  that  grow  for  happy  lovers " ; 
bachelor's  buttons,  too,  hold  up  their  heads  in  a 
very  sprightly  manner,  and  please  notice  that 
they  are  getting  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  clump 
of  Sweet  Betsy.  But  the  bachelor's  buttons 
have  a  rival,  for  the  other  side  of  Sweet  Betsy 
stands  lad's  love — and  though  not  so  showy  as 
the  bachelor's  buttons,  lad's  love  claims  to  be 
of  more  soHd  worth.  I  leave  them  to  settle  the 
matter  between  themselves,  however;  I'm  not 
one  to  interfere  in  such  affairs. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  border  stands  a 
maiden's  blush  rose,  and  gallantly  waving  beside 
it  is  a  clump  of  Prince's  Feather  (sometimes  re- 
ferred to  in  common  parlance  as  "  they  lay  lock 
bushes").  At  the  edge  of  the  border  you 
naturally  find  heartsease,  not  the  stiff,  over- 
developed article  of  modern  flower-shows,  but 
the  old-fashioned  sort,  all  streaks  and  splashes  of 
rich  purple  and  yellow. 

There  is  no  time  now  to  go  round  the  vege- 
table garden — not  that  this  can  be  regarded  as 
an  entirely  separate  part  of  the  estate,  for  the 
vegetables  have  got  mixed  up  in  a  terribly  hap- 
hazard way  with  the  rest  of  things,  as  I  hinted 
just  now.  The  potato-plot,  for  instance,  has  a 
border  of  golden  wallflowers  all  round  and 
double  daisies  at  the  edge,  with  a  row  of  giant 

90 


The  Geography  of 
the  Flower-Patch 

sunflowers,  hollyhocks,  and  clumps  of  honesty  at 
the  back. 

This  mixture  is  partly  in  the  nature  of  a 
compromise.  The  gentleman  who  wields  the 
spade  has  to  be  taken  into  account.  No  matter 
who  he  is,  no  matter  how  often  he  discharges 
me  and  I  have  to  beg  yet  someone  else  to 
"oblige"  me,  it  is  always  the  same,  the  tiller 
of  the  soil  regards  space  given  over  to  flowers 
as  a  grievous  waste,  not  to  say  an  indication  of 
feeble-mindedness  I  Therefore  he  inserts  a  row 
of  vegetables  or  seeds  whenever  I  happen  to 
have  cleared  out  some  flowering  plants  and  left 
a  morsel  of  space  pro  tern.  It  seems  a  prevailing 
idea  among  the  non-qualified  working  classes,  in 
rural  districts,  that  the  cultivation  of  flowers 
ranks  about  on  a  level  with  doing  the  washing — 
work  derogatory  to  a  man  and  only  fit  for 
women  ! 

To  the  credit  of  the  handy  man  I  must  say 
that  on  one  occasion  he  did  kindly  present  me 
with  a  load  of  pig  manure.  He  put  it  on  the 
flower  garden  the  day  before  we  arrived,  as  a 
pleasant  surprise,  which  it  certainly  was  !  Next 
day  we  all  had  relatives  with  broken  legs,  who 
needed  our  immediate  return  to  town. 

Nevertheless  the  vegetables  play  their  part, 
and  assume  no  small  importance,  in  due  course ; 
for  it  is  another  unwritten  law  of  this  cottage 

91 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

that  visitors  shall  go  out  and  select  the  day's 
vegetables,  and  cut  them  with  the  dew  on ;  of 
course,  if  they  are  superlatively  lazy,  they  can 
meanly  get  some  early  riser  to  do  it  for  them  ; 
also  they  can  confer  together,  or  each  can  gather 
her  own  choice. 

Hence  you  will  see  Virginia  or  Ursula  in  a 
large  hat  that  is  all  brim,  with  basket  on  arm, 
and  wearing  an  apron  (not  a  lacy,  frilly  muslin 
thing,  but  a  good-sized,  well-made,  old-fashioned 
lilac  print  apron),  going  up  the  garden  and 
gathering  broad  beans,  cutting  young  cauli- 
flowers, or  "  curly  greens,"  or  turnip  tops,  or 
a  marrow,  forking  up  potatoes,  pulling  carrots, 
collecting  lettuces,  spring  onions,  cress  and  other 
salading — all  according  to  the  season. 

And  if  it  should  chance  that  you  have  never 
yourself  put  on  a  big  apron,  and  cut  your  own 
vegetables  before  the  dew  is  off  them,  then 
Virginia  will  be  truly  sorry  for  you. 

There  is  plenty  of  time  to  be  lazy,  however ; 
and  a  hot  summer  day  means  long  leisure  in  this 
garden;  for  when  the  sun  is  high  the  brown 
pitcher  rests  (though  the  brown  teapot  does  not) 
until  the  fir-trees  throw  shadows  from  the  west. 

All  day  you  can  sit  in  the  shade  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  looking  up  the  hill  at 
the  wonderful  mass  of  colour  before  you.  Along 
the  ridge  of  the  cottage  roof  perches  a  row  of 

92 


The  Geography  of 
the   Flower-Patch 

swallows,  chirping  and  chattering  in  their  usual 
way.  The  starlings,  who  have  built  under  the 
tiles,  are  ordering  their  respective  famiUes  to 
cease  clamouring  for  more,  explaining  that 
hunting  caterpillars  is  hot  work.  Most  other 
birds  are  quiet  when  the  sun  is  fiercest,  but  over 
all  the  garden  there  is  the  hum,  hum  of  thousands 
of  industrious  bees,  while  literally  hundreds  of 
white  butterflies  keep  up  a  perpetual  flutter  over 
the  tall  blue  spikes  of  bloom  on  the  lavender 
bushes. 

Even  the  small  white  dog  with  the  brown 
ears  ceases  to  tear  about  the  garden,  and  bark 
at  nothing  in  a  consequential  way ;  he  just  lies 
down  on  the  edge  of  somebody's  dress,  and  hangs 
out  a  little  pink  tongue  for  air. 

This  is  the  time  when  the  flower-patch  among 
the  hills  spells  Rest. 

An  old  woman  passing  up  the  lane  a  few  nights 
ago  paused  at  the  gate.  "  How  them  pinnies 
do  blow,  miss  !  "  she  said,  gazing  admiringly 
at  a  clump  of  peonies.     Then  she  added — 

"  Ain't  it  strange,  now,  that  it  do  take  a 
woman  to  make  a  flower  garden  ?  A  man  ain't 
no  good  at  that ;  he  simply  can't  help  hisself 
a-running  to  veg'tables  !  " 

But  after  thinking  this  over,  and  despite  all 
that  strong-minded  womankind  tells  me  to  the 
contrary,  I  cannot  really  beUeve  that  there  is 
such  total  depravity  in  the  other  sex  ! 

93 


VI 

That  Jane  Price! 

When  Abigail  announced,  "Mrs.  Price  says 
can  you  spare  a  minute  to  see  her,  please, 
ma'am,"  you  would  have  known  by  the  toss  of 
her  nose  that  the  lady-caller  was  not  very  nearly 
related  to  the  aristocracy. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mrs.  Price,  or  "that 
Jane  Price,"  as  she  is  more  usually  styled,  is 
held  in  no  great  esteem  in  our  village.  Yet 
everything  is  said  to  fulfil  some  useful  purpose, 
and  if  Mrs.  Price  does  nothing  else,  at  least  she 
and  her  family  serve  as  conspicuous  moral 
warnings  and  give  us  something  to  throw  up 
our  hands  about  at  intervals,  when  we  exclaim  : 

"  Did  you  ever  ! ! " 

She  is  a  widow  of  ample  and  well-fed  pro- 
portions, owning  her  cottage,  some  bees  and  a 
pig,  and  apparently  getting  a  fairly  good  living 
out  of  doing  remarkably  little  sewing.  If,  under 
a  mistaken  sense  of  duty,  you  strive  to  encourage 
local  industry,  and  seek  to  engage  her  services, 
she  has  to  consider  before  she  consents  to  under- 
take the  bit  of  sewing  you  offer  her  to  do,  at 
three  times  the  amount  you  would  have  to  pay 
for  having  it  done  in  town.  And  as  often  as 
not  she  replies  that  she  "  really  can't  oblige  you  " 
this  time,  as  she's  got  a  "  spell "  on  cruel  bad, 

94 


That 
Jane  Price ! 

that  has  gone  all  down  her  back  to  her  knees, 
making  her  head  feel  nohow. 

You  turn  away  not  even  worried  about  her 
condition,  since  she  seems  as  cheerful  as  a  daisy 
and  as  comfortably  complacent  as  a  cow.  And 
you  also  know,  even  though  you  may  have  been 
acquainted  with  the  lady  only  a  few  months, 
that  however  cruel  the  spell  may  be,  and 
however  long  it  may  last  and  prevent  her 
working,  her  children  will  be  some  of  the  most 
elaborately  dressed  in  the  Sunday  school,  and 
from  the  cottage  door  there  will  radiate  the 
most  appetising  of  odours  as  regularly  as  the 
mealtimes  come  round. 

How  it  is  that  she  manages  to  do  so  well 
with  so  little  visible  means  of  subsistence,  only  a 
stranger  would  stop  to  inquire.  The  residents 
know  only  too  well  that  her  pockets  are  large  ; 
that  the  shawl  she  invariably  wears  on  weekdays 
has  voluminous  folds  ;  that  her  carrying  and 
stowing-away  capacity  is  almost  worthy  of  a 
professional  conjurer.  Kleptomania  (to  give  it 
as  refined  a  name  as  we  can)  is  her  besetting  sin. 
Unfortunately  her  family  follow  in  her  footsteps. 

Mrs.  Price  seems  to  have  a  positive  gift  for 
turning  everything  to  profitable  account ;  and 
her  methods  of  raising  money  are  as  ingenious 
as  they  are  varied. 

Knowing  her  idiosyncrasies,  I  asked  Abigail 
where  she  was  at  the  moment. 

95 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  In  the  kitchen,  sitting  in  my  wicker  easy- 
chair,"  Abigail  replied,  still  with  elevated  nose. 
"  She  just  walked  right  in  and  plumped  herself 
down." 

Whereupon  I  indicated,  by  dumb  pantomime, 
that  she  was  on  no  account  to  be  left  there  with- 
out personal  oversight;  and  Abigail  intimated, 
by  means  of  nods  and  becks  and  wreathed 
scowls,  that  she  was  keeping  her  left  eye  on  the 
visitor,  over  her  shoulder,  even  while  she  was 
talking  to  me.  We  both  knew  that  all  was  fish 
that  came  to  Mrs.  Price's  net,  and  she  would 
negotiate  with  absolute  impartiality  a  piece  of 
soap,  a  duster,  or  a  half-crown,  should  they  lie 
in  her  way. 

Not  long  before,  Miss  Bretherton,  the 
Rector's  niece,  a  middle-aged  lady  who  keeps 
house  for  him,  had  tried  to  give  one  of  the 
Price  girls — Esmeralda  by  name — a  good  start 
in  life,  taking  her  into  the  rectory  kitchen.  But 
things  disappeared  with  such  alarming  rapidity 
during  the  first  month  she  was  in  residence,  that 
she  had  to  be  sent  back  home  again. 

She  left  on  a  Saturday  after  middle-day 
dinner.  In  the  afternoon  the  house  was  observing 
the  all-pervading  quiet  that  was  customary  on 
Saturdays  while  the  Rector  was  in  his  study 
preparing  for  Sunday. 

Miss  Bretherton,  requiring  something  in  the 
96 


That 
Jane  Price! 

dining-room  that  adjoined  the  study,  went  in  on 
tiptoe  so  as  not  to  disturb  him,  when,  to  her 
amazement,  she  came  upon  the  discharged 
Esmeralda  sitting  on  the  floor  beside  an  open 
sideboard  cupboard  where  some  jars  of  pickles 
were  stored,  ladling  out  pickled  walnuts  as  fast 
as  she  could  into  one  of  the  maternal  pudding 
basins.  Seeing  Miss  Bretherton,  she  just  picked 
up  her  basin,  walnuts  and  all,  and  hastily  retired 
the  same  way  that  she  had  come,  through  the 
French  window. 

Now,  obviously  her  ex-mistress — over  fifty 
years  of  age  and  liable  to  rheumatism — couldn't 
chase  after  her  in  house-slippers  and  minus  a 
bonnet,  seeing  it  was  raining ;  so  the  bereft  lady 
just  closed  the  sideboard  door  and  communed 
with  her  own  feelings,  womanfully  stifling  her 
desire  to  burst  into  the  study  and  tell  the  Rector 
about  it,  even  though  it  was  his  Saturday  silence 
time. 

Next  morning,  Sunday,  just  as  she  was 
buttoning  her  gloves,  preparatory  to  crossing 
the  rectory  lawn  by  the  short  cut  to  the  church, 
the  cook  came  to  her  with  the  agitated  inquiry  : 
Had  the  mistress  done  anything  with  the  leg  of 
mutton  left  by  the  butcher  yesterday  morning  ? 

No,  of  course  not  I     Why  should  she  ?  etc. 

Well,  they  hunted  high  and  they  hunted 
low,  and  the  church  bell  gave  its  final  peremptory 
clang  when  they  were  still  hunting,  but  no  leg 

97 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

of  mutton  was  found  either  in  the  master's  boot 
cupboard,  or  under  the  bed  in  the  spare  room, 
or  in  the  bookcase  in  the  Hbrary,  or  in  the  wood- 
shed, or  in  any  other  of  the  equally  likely  places 
which  they  searched.  Indeed,  no  one  had  ever 
expected  that  it  would  be  found  once  its  absence 
was  discovered  ;  they  just  looked  darkly  at  each 
other  and  murmured,  "  That  Esmeralda,  of 
course."  Cook  declares  that  her  mistress  added 
"the  good-for-nothing  baggage"  under  her 
breath  ;  but  I  can't  credit  that  of  Miss  Brether- 
ton,  who  always  manages  to  maintain  a  wonderful 
calm  and  self-restraint  under  the  most  trying 
circumstances. 

At  any  rate,  she  told  cook  they  must  have 
fried  ham  and  eggs  for  dinner — if  you  ever  heard 
of  such  a  thing  on  a  Sunday  at  the  rectory  I 
and  the  Archdeacon  of  Saskatchewan  preaching 
in  the  morning  on  behalf  of  the  C.M.S.  too  ! 

Moreover,  Miss  Bretherton  was  ten  minutes 
late  for  church,  a  thing  never  known  before  in 
the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant ;  and  then, 
still  more  remarkable,  instead  of  waiting  to  speak 
to  people  after  church,  she  set  off  at  a  terrific 
pace  for  Mrs.  Price's  cottage,  and  walked  in  to 
find  the  kitchen  full  of  a  delightful  aroma,  and  a 
fine  leg  of  mutton  just  being  taken  from  the 
roasting-jack  by  Esmeralda  and  placed  on  the 
table,  which  was  already  adorned  with  a  saucer 
containing  pickled  walnuts. 

98 


That 
Jane  Price! 

Miss  Bretherton  knew  better  than  to  say, 
"  That's  my  leg  of  mutton."  Our  village  under- 
stands all  about  "  having  the  law  on  'un,"  if 
anyone  upsets  their  feelings  in  any  way.  There- 
fore, swallowing  hard,  and  determining  for  the 
hundredth  time  not  to  lose  her  temper,  she  said, 
"  Where  did  you  get  that  leg  of  mutton  from, 
Mrs.  Price  ? " 

Had  the  woman  replied,  "  From  the  butcher," 
that  would  have  been  fairly  incriminating, 
because,  of  course,  we  don't  require  more  than 
one  sheep  a  week  for  home  consumption  in  the 
village,  and,  as  everybody  knows,  each  sheep  has 
only  two  legs,  and  it  wouldn't  require  a  Sherlock 
Holmes  to  track  those  two  legs  any  week  in  the 
year.  As  it  happened,  this  week's  other  leg  had 
gone  to  my  house.  Had  INIrs.  Price  claimed  it 
as  her  own,  she  would  have  been  undone. 

But  she  was  too  shrewd  for  that;  she 
promptly  replied,  with  a  look  of  surprised 
innocence  at  such  a  strange  question  being 
asked  by  Miss  Bretherton  at  such  a  time — 

"  That  leg  of  mutton,  do  you  mean,  miss  ? " 
(as  though  there  was  a  meat  market  to  choose 
from  I)  "  Yes ;  ain't  it  a  fine  one ;  it  weighs 
seven  pound,  if  it  weighs  an  ounce."  (Miss  B. 
knew  that ;  she  had  studied  the  butcher's  ticket 
only  that  morning.)  "  I  couldn't  get  it  into  the 
oven,  so  we  had  to  roast  it  afore  the  fire.  I 
expect  you  find  the  kitchen  a  bit  'ot.     But  as 

99 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

I  was  saying"  (Miss  B.  had  to  press  her  lips 
together  very  hard),  "it  ain't  often  as  I  get  a 
windfall  Hke  this,  but  my  brother-in-law  come 
up  to  see  us  yesterday  jfrom  Penglyn,  and  he 
brought  it  me  for  a  birthday  present ;  that's  why 
I  had  to  send  'Sm'ralder  round  to  the  rectory 
in  the  afternoon  to  fetch  my  pudding  basin  as 
she'd  left  behind — the  one  she  brought  round 
that  day  with  some  new-laid  eggs  in,  what  I 
give  her  for  a  present  for  cook's  mother  who 
were  bad." 

Miss  Bretherton  pressed  her  lips  still  tighter^ 
and  walked  out.  She  knew  the  brother-in-law 
wouldn't  speak  to  "  that  Jane  "  if  he  met  her  in 
the  same  lane — such  was  the  love  between  the 
two  families — much  less  bring  her  a  leg  of 
mutton ;  besides,  he  had  none  too  many  joints 
for  his  own  family.  She  also  knew  that  cook's 
mother  had  not  been  ill,  and  if  she  had,  it 
wouldn't  have  been  Mrs.  Price  who  would  have 
supplied  the  new-laid  eggs. 

But  she  also  knew  the  futility  of  attempting 
to  circumvent  a  woman  of  this  type,  and  she 
hated  to  have  her  stand  there  and  tell  still  more 
untruths,  the  children  hovering  round. 

So  she  returned  silently,  and  served  the  ham 
and  eggs,  and  listened  while  the  Archdeacon 
explained  the  difference  between  Plain  Cree  and 
Swampy  Cree  (which,  he  was  surprised  to  find, 
she  had  hitherto  confused  in  her  mind,  or  at  best 

ICO 


That 
Jane  Price! 

regarded  as  one  and  the  same  language)  with  all 
the  Christian  grace  and  forbearance  she  could 
muster. 

Only  once  did  this  nearly  give  out,  and  that 
was  when,  after  she  had  apologised  to  their  guest 
for  such  frugal  fare  and  had  briefly  outlined  the 
reason  for  the  same,  the  Rector  looked  with  his 
usual  absent-minded  benignity  through  his 
glasses  at  his  plate,  and  said — 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  hadn't  noticed  any  differ- 
ence :  I  thought  this  was  what  we  usually  have 
for  dinner  on  Sundays." 

Just  think  of  it !  And  for  the  Archdeacon 
to  go  home  and  tell  his  wife  !     So  like  a  man  I 

This  much  as  a  general  survey  of  Mrs. 
Price's  characteristics.  She  doesn't  make  an 
idylHc  picture,  I  admit,  nor  seem  likely  to  be  in 
the  running  for  a  stained  glass  window  in  the 
Parish  Room.  But  then  villages  no  less  than 
towns  are  made  up  of  varied  assortments  of 
human  nature — and  don't  forget  we  are  none 
of  us  perfect. 

Nevertheless,  making  all  allowances  for 
human  frailty,  you  don't  wonder  that  I  wasn't 
anxious  for  Mrs.  Price  to  have  the  free  run  of 
my  kitchen,  and  Abigail,  remembering  that 
she  had  left  her  purse  on  the  dresser,  hurried 
back. 

I  finished  the  letter  I  was  writing,  and  then 

lOI 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

went  out  to  see  her.  As  I  approached,  I  could 
hear  her : 

"  '  Sally,'  he  says,  *  don't  let  the  kids  fergit 
me,'  and  then  'e  was  gone.  It's  this  new  disease 
they've  got  from  America — the  *  germs,'  they 
calls  it — and  they  do  say  as  'e  makes  a  beautiful 
corpse,  though  I  shouldn't  never  have  thought  it 
of  'e,  the  Prices  being  none  of  them  perticker- 
lelly  well  favoured,  even  if  he  was  me  own 
pore  husband's  brother.  But  thur,  thur,  I 
say  speak  nothing  but  good  of  them  what's 
gone." 

She  rose  when  I  appeared,  and,  with  a  good 
deal  of  side-tracking  on  to  irrelevant  matters, 
chiefly  connected  with  the  excellence  of  her  own 
children,  she  explained  that  her  late  husband's 
brother  had  just  died  "  over  to  Penglyn,"  a  little 
town  fifteen  miles  away  across  the  hills,  and  in  a 
most  un-get-at-able  corner  of  the  county. 

The  funeral  was  to-morrow,  and  neither  she 
nor  the  family  of  the  deceased  had  a  scrap  of 
black,  "leastways,  exceptin'  this  bonnet,  which 
don't  look  really  respeckful  to  'im  as  is  gone, 
being  me  own  husband's  own  brother."  I  admit 
the  item  that  had  been  placed  upon  her  head — 
whether  for  use  or  adornment  it  was  hard  to 
decide — resembled  a  jaded  hen's  nest  more  than 
anything  else  I  The  rest  of  her  attire  consisted 
of  a  green  skirt,  a  crimson  blouse,  and  a  very 
light  fawn  coat  (portions  of  costumes  that  had 

1 02 


That 
Jane  Price  I 

started  life  in  considerably  higher  social  circles  in 
the  village),  and  a  purple  crochet  scarf. 

Dimly  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  not  seen 
Mrs.  Price  in  bright  colours  before,  for  although 
she  never  wore  the  conventional  widow's  weeds, 
she  was  usually  in  something  black  or  dark  ;  the 
matrons  in  our  village  haven't  gone  in  for  skittish 
skirts  or  glaring  colour-combinations  as  yet !  I 
concluded,  however,  that  her  black  clothes  were 
too  shabby.     She  was  saying — 

"  And  1  didn't  know  where  to  turn,  m'm. 
Everybody  saying  they  hadn't  none  when  I 
called,  and  there  didn't  seem  to  be  a  soul  left  to 
go  to,  and  that  pore  dear  sister-in-law  of  mine — 
leastways  same  as,  being  me  poor  husband's 
brother's  wife — with  not  a  scrap  to  put  on  'cept 
his  best  overcoat  what  she's  cuttin'  down  for  one 
of  the  boys. 

"  And  then  I  bethought  me  of  you,  it  come  to 
me  all  of  a  suddint.  I  put  down  the  pan  of 
'taters  I  was  peeling  and  come  straight  up. 
'Sm'ralder  says  to  me,  '  But,  mother,  you  can't 
wear  that  ole  bonnet  up  to  that  house ! '  But  I 
says  to  her,  *  It's  certain  I  can't  wear  what  I 
haven't  got,  and  the  Queen  haven't  sent  me  one 
of  her  done- with  crowns  yet.'  So  I  just  come 
as  best  I  could." 

I  was  a  little  surprised  to  hear  that  she  had 
been  refused  at  every  door,  for,  irrespective  of 
personal  reputation,  the  better-off  residents  are 

103  H 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

always  very  good  to  any  of  the  villagers  who  may 
be  in  want  or  in  trouble ;  indeed,  we  have  only 
one  mean  woman  among  us,  she  who  once 
remarked  to  a  paid  lady-companion,  newly- 
arrived  from  a  freezingly  cold  journey,  and  badly 
in  need  of  a  cup  of  tea  to  eke  out  her  skimpy 
cold-mutton-bone  lunch :  "I'm  sure  you  will 
enjoy  a  glass  of  water.  We  have  really  beautiful 
water  here.  Pray  help  yourself  vihenever  you 
Uke." 

Still,  it  was  possible  no  one  had  had  any 
black. 

I  meditated  a  moment  on  my  own  ward- 
robe and  Mrs.  Price's  capacious  waist-measure ! 
Virginia's  things  would  be  still  less  use,  as  she  is 
the  size  of  a  sylph. 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  anything  that  would  fit 
you  in  the  way  of  a  skirt,"  I  began,  "  but  I've  a 
large  winter  jacket  if  you  don't  think  it  will  be 
too  warm  for  June." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  m'm.  It's  only  the  first 
week  in  June.  I'm  a  very  chilly  person  "  (no  one 
looking  at  her  buxom  proportions  would  have 
thought  so  !),  "  and  a  thick  jacket  is  just  what 
I'm  needin'  terrible  bad.  And  if  you  had  a  skirt, 
it  'ud  be  jest  the  size  for  my  pore  dear  sister-in- 
law.  Ah,  I  can  feel  for  her,  being  a  widow 
myself,  and  left  with  them  children.  She  said  to 
me  on'y  yesterday,  'Jane,  do  try  to  get  me  a 

104 


That 
Jane  Price! 

black  skirt  from  anywhere,  if  on'y  you  can.'  She 
says " 

"  But  you  told  me  just  now  that  you  hadn't 
seen  her  since  before  her  husband  died,"  blurted 
in  Abigail,  forgetful  of  her  usual  good  manners, 
and  begrudging  to  see  the  family  wardrobe  being 
disbursed  in  this  way,  as  she  rather  regarded  my 
coats  and  skirts  as  her  perquisites. 

Mrs.  Price  turned  full  upon  Abigail  that 
look  of  surprised  innocence  that  stood  her  in  such 
good  stead.  "  She  said  it  in  a  letter  she  writ  me 
yesterday,"  she  replied  with  dignified  composure. 

Finally  I  told  her  I  would  look  her  out  some- 
thing if  she  sent  Esmeralda  up  for  it  in  the 
evening.  Mrs.  Price  lingered  to  recite  further 
tales  of  woe  to  Abigail,  till  she,  kind  girl,  in  spite 
of  her  private  estimate  of  the  lady,  bestowed  on 
her  a  pair  of  black  lisle  thread  gloves,  as  she 
spoke  so  pathetically  about  having  to  go  to  the 
funeral  with  bare  hands  and  not  being  able  to 
afford  any  gloves. 

When  Virginia  came  in  from  "  sticking " 
sweet  peas  in  the  garden,  I  told  her  about  Mrs. 
Price. 

"  Well,  I  don't  consider  her  a  worthy  object 
for  charity  as  a  rule,"  she  remarked.  "  But  at 
the  same  time,  if  Fate  kindly  supplies  me  with 
an  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  that  big  black  hat  of 
mine  that  I've  never  liked  and  never  intend  to 

105  H  2 


The  Flow^er-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

wear  again,  I'm  not  the  one  to  disregard  it, 
especially  as  it  will  save  my  carrying  that  huge 
hat-box  back  to  town.  But  whether  she  or  the 
*  sister-in-law-same-as  '  wears  it,  either  will  find  it 
good  weight  for  the  money." 

So  we  left  the  winter  jacket,  and  the  hat,  and 
a  black  blouse  Ursula  added  to  the  parcel,  and 
my  black  cloth  skirt  for  the  sister-in-law,  against 
Esmeralda  should  come  for  them.  And  then  we 
started  out  to  make  some  calls. 

Passing  Miss  Primkins'  house,  we  just  stopped 
to  leave  a  book  I  had  promised  to  lend  her. 
Miss  Primkins  is  a  pleasant  middle-aged  lady, 
of  very  small  independent  means,  who  lives  in  a 
cottage  by  herself.  The  door  stood  open  as 
usual.  She  looked  over  the  stairs  when  I 
knocked,  then  explained  that  she  would  be  down 
in  a  moment  if  we  would  go  in. 

"  I've  been  turning  out  things  in  the  box-room 
— in  order  to  find  a  little  black  for  that  Mrs. 
Price.  Her  husband's  brother  has  just  died,  and 
the  funeral  is  to  be  to-morrow,  and  she  says  no 
one  in  the  place  has  any  black  in  hand.  So  she 
came  and  asked  me  if  I  would  mind  lending  her 
a  black  mantle  ! — lending  it  to  her  indeed  ! 

"  I  asked  her  what  she  had  done  with  that  black 
dolman  I  gave  her  not  three  months  ago — you 
remember  that  dolman  trimmed  with  black  lace 
that  I  was  rather  fond  of  ?     I  bought  it — oh,  it 

io6 


That 
Jane  Price ! 

must  be  at  least  ten  years  ago — for  my  uncle's 
funeral.  It  was  trimmed  with  two  bands  of 
crepe,  one  about  four  inches  deep,  and  the  other 
three  inches,  or  perhaps  two-and-three-quarters  ; 
very  stylish  it  looked,  too.  Then  I  had  the  crepe 
taken  off  and  some  black  silk  put  on  it — very 
good  ottoman  silk  it  was — that  had  originally 
been  part  of  a  black  silk  dress  belonging  to  my 
sister.  Next  I  had  it  covered  with  fancy  net 
with  velvet  applique  for  a  change — not  that  I 
Hked  it,  or  would  have  thought  of  having  it  done 
had  I  known  what  it  was  going  to  cost.  But 
they  do  take  you  in  so  at  those  town  shops ;  why, 
I  could  have  got  a  new  dolman  for  what  it  cost 
to  cover  that  one  !  And  then  it  lasted  no  time, 
used  to  catch  in  everything,  so  I  had  next  to  no 
wear  out  of  that. 

"  I  had  it  taken  off,  and  the  dolman  tharoughly 
turned — every  bit ;  and  the  dressmaker  put  on 
some  fringe,  a  sort  of  wavy  fringe ;  but  I  had  to 
have  it  taken  off,  because  that  Gladys  Price, 
when  she  came  home  for  a  holiday,  had  on  a  silk 
coat  trimmed  with  fringe  exactly  Hke  it,  so  there 
again  I  got  taken  in,  as  you  might  say. 

"  After  that,  I  put  my  brown  fur  trimming  on 
it,  but  for  the  winter  only ;  and  then  for  the 
summer  I  put  on  some  deep  black  lace.  I 
hadn't  had  that  lace  on  more  than  six  months 
when  I  gave  her  the  dolman.  (I  remember  quite 
well  sitting  up  late  that  night  to  pick  the  lace 

107 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

all  off  it.)  Altogether,  you  can't  say  I  had  so 
much  wear  out  of  any  of  it,  and  it  was  a  constant 
expense.  And  yet,  would  you  credit  it,  when  I 
asked  her  what  she  had  done  with  it,  she  said  it 
had  '  wored  out '  I  Why,  /  could  have  had  it 
another  ten  years  in  good  use,  without  its  being 
'  wored  out.'  She's  a  thriftless  woman,  that's 
what  she  is.  Still,  I  suppose  it  isn't  for  us  to 
judge  her." 

We  had  to  hurry  on.  I  wanted  to  call  on 
Miss  Bretherton,  who  had  sprained  her  ankle 
and  needed  commiseration.  We  found  her  in 
that  state  of  suppressed  and  bottled-up-in-a- 
Christian-manner  irritation  that  is  common  to 
very  active  women  who  are  suddenly  tied  to  a 
chair  with  some  of  their  machinery  out  of  gear  ; 
and,  Hke  most  other  women  under  similar  con- 
ditions, she  was  trying  to  do  ten  times  as  much 
as  she  ought  to  have  done,  in  order  to  prove  to 
everybody  that  there  was  nothing  the  matter 
with  her. 

"  You'll  just  have  to  come  into  the  midst  of 
all  this  muddle,"  she  sighed,  "  for  I  can't  move 
myself  into  another  room." 

"  Sorting  things  for  a  jumble  sale  ? "  I 
inquired,  looking  at  sundry  piles  of  garments 
strewn  about  her. 

"  It  almost  amounts  to  that ;  though  I  really 
started  out  to  get  a  few  things  together  for  a 

io8 


That 
Jane  Price! 

woman  in  the  village  who  seems  to  be  rather 
needy  at  the  moment,  that  Jane  Price.  Her 
brother-in-law  has  just  died — you  remember 
Zebadiah  Price,  who  hved  at  Briar  Bush  Cottage 
before  they  took  a  httle  place  at  Penglyn  ?  We 
lost  sight  of  them  after  they  left  here — it's  such 
a  cross-country  place  they've  gone  to.  I'm  rather 
surprised  they  haven't  asked  the  Rector  to  bury 
him,  he  thought  a  good  deal  of  Zebadiah  ;  but 
all  the  same  I'm  glad  they  haven't,  for  it  takes 
you  the  best  part  of  a  day  to  cover  that  fifteen 
miles,  and  he  has  a  sUght  cold.  It  seems  she's 
going  to  the  funeral  to-morrow. 

"  I  admit  there  are  several  women  in  the 
parish  I  should  feel  a  greater  pleasure  in  helping 
— she  does  try  my  patience  at  times — but  I  felt  I 
ought  to  do  what  I  can  in  this  particular  case, 
as  she  doesn't  seem  able  to  get  any  black  from 
anyone  else.  Everybody  says  they  gave  theirs 
to  the  last  jumble  sale,  she  tells  me,  though  / 
didn't  see  any  of  it ! 

"  She  is  wanting  some  for  Zebadiah 's  family 
too ;  they  are  left  in  bad  straits,  she  says.  I  was 
only  too  glad  to  find  that  she  and  her  sister-in- 
law  have  buried  the  hatchet  at  last ;  they've  been 
at  loggerheads  for  years  ;  she  really  spoke  very 
nicely  about  it.  She  said  the  older  she  got  the 
more  she  felt  life  was  too  short  to  spend  it  in 
quarrelling,  and  at  a  time  like  this  she  thought 
bygones  should  be  bygones.     I  don't  like  to  mis- 

109 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

judge  the  woman,"  Miss  Bretherton  continued 
with  a  sigh.  "  Sometimes  she  seems  so  anxious 
to  do  right.     Her  bringing  up  was  against  her. 

And  yet "     And  then  the  Rectoress  closed 

her  lips  firmly  determined  to  say  no  uncharitable 
thing,  even  about  "  that  Jane  Price." 

I'm  afraid  I  didn't  think  too  highly  of 
Mrs.  Price  at  that  moment.  I  remembered  the 
parcels  of  black  garments  waiting  at  my  house 
and  again  at  Miss  Primkins'.  Moreover,  Mrs. 
Price's  occasional  lapses  into  fervent  piety 
annoyed  me  very  much,  because  1  suspected 
they  were  developed  for  my  benefit.  She  always 
gave  me  a  long  recital  of  woes  and  financial 
difficulties  whenever  she  saw  me,  and  invariably 
finished  up  with,  "  But  thur,  thur,  I  don't  let  it 
worry  me,  for  I  always  say,  *The  Lord  will 
provide.' "  I  much  objected  to  her  taking  the 
Name  in  vain  in  this  manner,  more  especially  as 
it  generally  happened  that  she  gave  Providence 
every  assistance  in  the  matter  by  helping  herself 
to  anything  that  lay  within  reach  of  her  hand  ! 

We  did  not  stay  long  at  the  rectory,  as  I 
wanted  to  call  on  the  lady  of  the  manor.  She 
kept  us  waiting  a  few  minutes  before  she 
appeared ;  but  explained,  as  she  apologised  for 
the  delay,  "  I've  just  turned  out  five  trunks, 
two  cupboards,  and  four  chests  of  drawers — and 
goodness  knows  how  many  more  I  should  have 

no 


That 
Jane  Price! 

set  upon  if  you  hadn't  come  !  It's  a  pastime 
that  seems  to  grow  upon  one  like  taking  to 
drink  or  gambling — the  more  you  have  the  more 
you  want ! 

"  I  only  meant  to  look  through  one  chest  for 
a  black  bonnet  I  thought  I  had  put  there — 
I'm  trying  to  find  some  funeral  wear  for  that 
Mrs.  Price.  Her  husband's  brother  has  died, 
Zebadiah  Price ;  they  live  over  the  hills  at 
Penglyn.  While  he  was  alive,  she  hadn't  a  good 
word  to  say  for  his  wife;  but  now  he's  gone, 
her  conscience  seems  to  worry  her,  and  she  says 
she  feels  the  very  least  she  can  do  is  *  to  show 
respeck  to  the  remains,'  and  she  wants  to  help 
his  family.  So  I've  been  going  over  a  good  deal 
of  ancient  history  in  my  search  for  garments 
calculated  to  show  a  sufficiency  of  respect.  She 
said  she  was  afraid  that  what  she  had  on  might 
give  a  vnrong  impression." 

"  If  she  wore  the  same  set  of  glad  rags  that 
she  had  on  when  she  came  to  see  us,  likewise 
asking  for  mourning,"  Virginia  interpolated, 
"  she'd  give  the  impression  of  a  ragged  rainbow 
gone  wrong  and  turned  inside  out,  rather  than  a 
funeral." 

"  Oh,  she's  been  to  you,  has  she  ?  She  told 
me  she  couldn't  think  of  making  so  bold  as  to 
intrude  her  troubles  on  other  people,  and  only 
came  to  me  because  she  knew  I  had  been  so 
kind  to  Zebadiah  years  ago  when  he  was  ill ; 

III 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

and  added  that  my  clothes  always  suited  her  so 
well ! " 

When  we  got  outside,  Virginia  suggested 
with  a  twinkle  that  we  should  call  on  a  few 
more  people.  We  did,  and  at  every  house  we 
were  met  with  the  sad  intelligence  of  Zebadiah 
Price's  death  and  his  sister-in-law's  quest  for 
suitably  respectful  apparel. 

Surely  Royalty  could  not  have  been  more 
universally  mourned — in  our  village,  at  any  rate  I 

Next  Sunday  we  were  rather  puzzled  on 
entering  the  church  to  see  an  ample  lady  clad 
in  the  most  resplendent  of  widow's  weeds,  sitting 
in  solitary  state  in  the  very  front  row — a  seat 
usually  patronised  only  by  the  halt  and  maimed. 

Her  dress  and  mantle  were  of  dull  black  silk 
trimmed  with  crepe  about  a  quarter  of  a  yard  in 
depth.  True,  it  was  not  quite  new,  but  its 
cut  and  style  were  unmistakable ;  anyone  who 
possessed  such  a  dress  could  afford  to  wear  it 
even  after  its  first  newness  had  worn  off;  it 
stamped  the  wearer  as  a  lady  of  means.  A  long 
weeper,  black  kid  gloves,  and  a  black-bordered 
handkerchief  completed  all  we  could  see  of  the 
lady.  We  could  only  conclude  that  the  distin- 
guished stranger  must  be  very  deaf  indeed,  to 
take  the  front  seat. 

By  this  time  all  the  congregation  as  it  came 
in  was  interested.    Such  a  stylish  stranger  would 

112 


That 
Jane  Price! 

naturally  attract  attention.  She  kept  her  head 
devoutly  bent,  and  used  the  handkerchief  fre- 
quently ;  we  couldn't  see  her  face.  She  might 
have  been  a  peeress-in- waiting,  judging  by  the 
dignity  and  decorum  of  her  bearing. 

It  was  just  as  the  Rector  was  repeating  the 
opening  sentences  that  the  resplendent  one  turned 
round  to  see  the  effect  she  was  making  on  the 
congregation,  and  behold — that  Mrs.  Price ! 

I  am  afraid  I  only  just  saved  myself  from  ' 
making  the  time-honoured  remark,  "  Did  you 
EVER  ! " 

"  But  what  I  want  to  know  is  this,"  said  Miss 
Primkins  (as  several  of  us  walked  together  along 
the  high  road  after  church,  leaving  Mrs.  Price 
giving  details  of  the  funeral,  and  the  innumerable 
wreaths,  to  her  friends).  "  Where  did  she  get 
those  weeds  from  ?  There  isn't  a  widow  among 
us,  nor  a  relative  of  a  widow,  so  far  as  I  know. 
Now  who  gave  them  to  her  ?  " 

But  we  none  of  us  knew.  It  certainly  looked 
suspiciously  as  though  Mrs.  Price  had  used  the 
poor  late  Zebadiah  as  an  excuse  for  dragging  the 
whole  county ! 

I  wasn't  surprised  that  she  herself  had  donned 
fresh  weeds,  for  as  we  are  remarkably  healthy 
upon  these  hills,  we  are  apt  to  make  the  most 
of  a  funeral  when  it  chances  our  way,  and  the 
opportunity  to  wear  mourning,  carrying  with  it, 

113 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

as  it  does,  a  certain  personal  distinction,  is  not  to 
be  passed  over  lightly. 

On  one  occasion  I  remember  meeting  a 
farmer's  wife  on  Sunday  morning  in  deep  black 
(that  had  done  duty  for  several  previous  family 
bereavements),  weeping  into  her  handkerchief  as 
she  went  along  the  road  to  church.  We  stopped 
to  inquire  about  her  trouble. 

"My  poor  old  mother's  gone  at  last,"  she 
sobbed.  We  were  truly  sorry  for  her  grief,  and 
asked  when  she  had  died. 

"  Well,  I  'spect  it  would  be  about  three  or 
four  this  morning ;  that's  the  time  they  usually 
go.  I  had  a  letter  last  night  saying  as  how  they 
didn't  reckon  she'd  live  the  night.  So  she'll  be 
gone  by  now.  My  poor  mother !  I'U  never  see 
her  again  ! "  and  she  wept  afresh. 

I'm  glad  to  say  the  mother  is  still  alive,  and 
very  flourishing. 

It  was  about  a  fortnight  later  that  Virginia 
gave  me  the  wildly-exciting  information,  culled 
from  the  local  paper,  that  some  Roman  remains 
had  just  been  excavated.  I  murmured  "  Oh  1 " 
in  that  absent-minded  way  people  will  do  when 
their  thoughts  are  called  off  the  subject  of  What 
shall  we  have  for  the  midday  meal  ?  to  higher 
things. 

I  was  thinking  like  this:  "I  did  intend  to 
have    steak    and    kidney   pudding,   but   as   the 

114 


That 
Jane  Price! 

butcher  is  late,  there  won't  be  time  to  cook  it ; 
there  isn't  enough  cold  tongue— at  least,  that 
knobbly  end  part  is  no  use — we  have  plenty  of 
eggs  in  the  house,  so  we  must  just  make  out  with 
that  soup  left  over  from  yesterday  and  omelettes ; 
or  we  might  easily  have " 

"  Either  a  viaduct  or  an  amphitheatre  or  a 
villa ;  they  aren't  sure  as  yet  which  it  is,"  went 
on  Virginia.  "  You  read  about  it  yourself ;  it's 
awfully  interesting.  There  ;  in  that  column — 
see  ?     '  Roman  Remains  at  Penglyn.' " 

"At  Penglyn?  It  can't  be  Zebadiah,"  1 
commented  ;  "  he  wasn't  as  old  as  that  I  " 

Nevertheless,  we  aren't  particular  to  a  few 
hundred  years  in  our  village.  For  I  remember 
last  year  an  old  woman  telHng  me,  "  Have  you 
heard,  m'm,  of  the  great  news  in  the  village  ? 
The  Black  Prince  is  staying  at  the  Inn !  Yes, 
to  be  sure  !  And  he  seems  to  understand  our 
language  beautiful,  he  do ;  though  they  say  he 
does  speak  the  foreign  to  a  gentleman  what's 
staying  there  with  him.  The  only  thing  I  was 
surprised  about  was  to  see  how  young  he  do 
look,  considering  of  his  age.  Why,  I  remember 
hearing  tell  about  him  when  I  was  at  school ! " 
Later  on  I  found  the  historic  potentate  was  a 
harmless  Indian  law-student. 

Virginia  kept  on  about  the  Roman  excava- 
tions, and  announced  her  intention  of  going  to 
see  them.     I  protested  that  I  wasn't  going  to  be 

115 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

hauled  across  a  stony  mountainous  region  in  a 
wagonette,  and  then  change  twice  by  slow  train, 
an  hour  or  so  to  wait  at  each  change,  and  ditto 
to  get  back,  all  to  see  a  few  brick  walls,  when 
the  garden  so  badly  needed  weeding. 

She  was  indignant,  said  she  should  prefer  to 
go  alone  to  having  unsympathetic  and  uninformed 
society  ;  reminded  me  of  the  histories  of  nations 
that  had  been  found  embedded  in  brick  walls, 
waxed  eloquent  on  the  subject  of  the  Egyptian 
hieroglyphics  and  the  Rosetta  Stone,  skipped 
lightly  from  the  pointed  apex  of  the  Pyramids 
to  the  significance  of  the  flat  roofs  of  Thibet, 
examined  the  walls  of  the  buried  cities  in  central 
Asia,  and  before  I  had  fully  realised  that  I  was 
really  travelling  in  the  East,  I  found  that  she 
was  examining  the  designs  on  the  Aztec  pottery 
of  ancient  Mexico. 

Fearing  that  we  should  have  this  sort  of  thing 
straight  on  end  for  a  week,  I  said  we  would  go 
next  day,  weather  permitting,  if  only  she  would 
help  me  decide  whether  to  have  the  omelette 
plain,  or  a  cheese  omelette,  or  would  they  prefer 
macaroni  cheese  ?  I  have  found  in  the  past  that 
the  crystallisation  of  thought  necessary  to  follow 
Virginia,  when  she  is  in  an  informing  mood, 
creates  a  vacuum,  and  then  I  get  a  cold  in  my 
head. 

I  also  inquired  whether  she  would  prefer  to 
drive  all  the  way,  or  go  by  train. 

ii6 


That 
Jane  Price! 

She  replied,  still  with  her  eyes  glued  to  the 
interesting  newspaper  treatise  on  antiquarian 
rehcs,  that  she  would  rather  I  settled  these  minor 
details,  adding  that  she  always  liked  to  leave  the 
arrangement  of  everything  to  me,  as  it  gave 
her  such  opportunities  to  point  out  to  me  the 
feebleness  of  my  methods  and  ideas. 

I  decided  to  go  with  her,  simply  because  I 
knew  that  unless  she  had  some  firm,  restraining 
force  beside  her,  she  would  go  and  buy  that 
Roman  viaduct,  amphitheatre,  or  villa,  and  order 
it  to  be  sent  home  ;  and,  for  aU  I  knew,  she 
might  give  my  address  in  a  fit  of  wandering- 
mindedness,  and  what  should  /  do  with  it  when 
it  arrived  ?  You  can't  pack  an  amphitheatre 
away  in  the  empty  pigsty,  and  all  the  other 
space  was  occupied  with  seedUngs  and  things  ! 

Besides,  she  has  no  bump  of  locahty  (neither 
have  I,  for  the  matter  of  that) ;  but  I  thought 
it  would  look  better  if  two  of  us  were  arrested 
for  wandering  about  without  any  visible  means 
of  subsistence ;  at  least,  I  could  say  I  was  her 
keeper. 

Next  morning  we  inquired  of  the  barometer 
as  to  the  weather  prospects.  By  the  way,  that 
barometer  is  a  unique  treasure.  V.  and  U.  gave 
it  to  me  one  birthday ;  I  had  long  been  craving 
one  that  was  a  genuine  antique.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  this  one — its  antiquity,  I  mean  ;  for 
the    rest,    until    you    get    on    speaking    terms 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

with   it,    I    admit    that   it    does   seem   a  trifle 
ambiguous. 

But  I'm  not  one  to  look  a  gift  horse  in  the 
mouth,  so  I'll  say  no  more  on  this  point,  save 
that  we  tapped  it  vigorously ;  whereupon  the, 
long  hand  flew  wildly  round  and  round  one  way, 
while  the  short  hand  did  a  whirligig,  equally 
excitedly,  in  the  opposite  direction. 

We  waited  till  they  both  got  tired  of  spinning 
round,  and  then,  as  the  long  hand  pointed  to 
"  Much  Rain,"  with  leanings  towards  "  Stormy," 
we  knew  we  could  rely  on  a  very  fine  day. 

But  we  tapped  it  once  again,  just  to  make 
sure  it  knew  its  own  mind.  After  it  had  wiggled 
giddily  round  as  before,  the  long  hand  stopped 
midway  between  "  Set  Fair  "  and  "  Very  Dry." 
Of  course  that  confirmed  our  former  calculations, 
and  we  got  out  our  new  summer  hats,  and  left 
our  umbrellas  at  home.  Virginia  had  worn  her 
new  hat  indoors  most  of  the  previous  day,  in 
order  to  get  her  money's  worth  out  of  it,  because 
she  said  she  never  got  her  money's  worth 
out  of  any  of  her  garments,  save  her  raincoat 
and  her  umbrella.  [N.B. — Is  an  umbrella  a 
garment  ?] 

It  was  market  day  when  we  got  there,  and 
all  the  town  was  of  course  wending  its  way 
either  to  or  from  the  market-place.  One  of  the 
very    first    people    we    ran    against   was    Mrs. 

Ji8 


That 
Jane  Price! 

Zebadiah  Price ;  but,  to  our  surprise,  she  was 
wearing  neither  my  black  cloth  skirt  nor  Ursula's 
black  blouse.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  in  quite 
gay  attire — a  brown  coat  and  skirt,  a  blue  blouse, 
a  lace  collar,  a  string  of  pearls  as  large  as 
marbles,  and  a  tuscan  straw  hat  trimmed  with 
roses  and  purple  geraniums.  I  had  known  her 
in  the  past,  when  she  lived  in  the  village ;  so  I 
stopped  and  spoke  to  her. 

"  I  was  so  very  sorry  to  hear  of  your  sad 
trouble,"  I  began.  Yet  the  subdued  tones  I 
used  and  felt  necessary  to  the  occasion  seemed 
curiously  out  of  place  beside  all  that  market-day 
finery. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  m'm ;  it  did  upset  me 
awful,"  she  said,  looking  very  woe-begone. 

"  I'm  sure  it  did,"  I  said  feelingly. 

"You  wouldn't  believe  how  I  fretted  over 
'un.  Seems  kind  o'  foolish  I  s'pose  when  I've 
got  the  children.  But  I  got  that  attached 
to  'un." 

"  I  can  quite  understand  it,"  I  murmured 
sympathetically.  "  After  all,  children  can't  take 
the  place  of  the  one  that  is  gone." 

"  No,  m'm  ;  that's  what  I  say." 

"  And  it  was  very  sudden,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes'm  ;  taken  bad  and  gone  in  a  few  hours," 
she  continued.  "And  that  was  the  second  I 
lost  in  two  months.  I  don't  have  no  luck 
somehow." 

119  I 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  The  second  in  two  months  ! "  I  repeated  in 
surprise. 

"  Yes'm,  and  I  feel  that  downhearted  about 
it,  I  don't  think  I'll  go  in  for  another.  I  said  so 
only  last  night  to  my  husband." 

"  Your  husband  ? "  I  echoed  again.  It  was 
beginning  to  sound  like  bigamy  ! 

"  He  said  at  the  time  he  thought  the  £l5  I 
give  was  a  swindle  for  the  brindled  cow." 

"  The  brindled  cow  ?  "  1  said  feebly.  I  really 
didn't  know  what  else  to  say.  Virginia  need  not 
have  laughed ! 

Then  I  rallied  my  senses.  "  But  I  thought 
you  had  trouble  about  a  fortnight  ago — your 
husband,  Zebadiah  Price — I  heard " 

"  My  Zeb  ?  About  a  fortnight  ago  ?  Let's 
see?" — thoughtfully  turning  her  left  eye  in 
the  direction  of  the  church  spire,  and  thereby 
tilting  her  hat  askew.  "  Ah,  I  expect  you  mean 
about  last  February ;  to  be  sure,  he  did  have  a 
touch  of  this  'ere  influenza ;  and  he  were  a  bit 
queer  for  a  couple  of  days,  he  were :  but  that 
was  nothing  to  my  losing  my  calf ! " 

"  I'm  glad  it  was  no  worse,"  I  said  heartily. 
"  Why,  Mrs.  Jane  Price  told  me  she  was  coming 
to  the  funeral." 

"  Jane  I  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Zebadiah.  "  Jane 
Price  said  she  was  coming  to  his  funeral  ?  Not 
if  I  know'd  it,  and  it  had  been  me  very  own 
even,  she  wouldn't ;    the   hussy — begging  your 

1 20 


That 
Jane  Price! 

pardon,  m'm,  for  using  sech  a  word.  She  knows 
better  than  to  try  to  put  so  much  as  a  shoenail 
of  her  foot  inside  our  door.  She  never  aren't  and 
she  never  shan't.  Though  for  brazenness  there 
ain't  their  beat  in  the  county.  Why,  p'raps 
you've  heard  how  that  there  Gladys  Price  has 
started  an  ole  clothes  shop  in  the  town  here, 
right  under  our  very  nose,  and  my  husband  as  re- 
spected as  he  is.  There  it  is  for  everybody  to  read 
over  the  door — *  G.  Price.  Ladies  and  Gents' 
Hemporium ' — whatever  that  may  be  !  Coming 
to  his  funeral,  indeed !  It  makes  me  broil  I "  And 
Mrs.  Z.  went  off  fairly  sizzling  with  indignation. 

When  we  had  duly  found  (after  long  search) 
and  surveyed  the  Roman  remains  (which  con- 
sisted of  three  upright  stones,  something  like 
those  used  for  kerbstones  in  the  streets,  and 
stood  in  the  middle  of  a  very  boggy  field),  and 
had  failed  to  decide  whether  they  were  the 
viaduct,  the  amphitheatre,  or  the  villa,  I 
suggested  a  speedy  return  to  the  station,  as 
it  was  now  coming  down  a  steady  drizzle, 
with  indications  of  still  more  to  follow.  But 
Virginia  said — 

"I'd  Hke,  while  we're  here,  just  to  have  a 
look  into  the  hemporium  window,  to  see  what 
she  has  marked  that  hat  of  mine." 

When  we  reached  it,  behold,  it  was  like 
taking  a  regretful  look  back  into  the  past,  for 

121  I   2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

most  of  the  garments  there  displayed  we  had 
formerly  known  when  they  walked  our  village 
street  in  decorous  Sunday  glory.  And  they 
included:  a  grey  cloth  coat  of  mine  that  had 
disappeared  most  mysteriously  ;  a  long  silk  scarf 
of  Ursula's  that,  so  far,  she  had  never  missed ; 
and  a  bead-bag  I  had  often  admired  when 
carried  by  the  lady  of  the  manor,  and  which,  we 
felt  sure,  she  had  never  given  away. 

"  Talk  about  excavating  Roman  remains  ! "  I 
exclaimed  ;  but  Virginia's  conversational  powers 
were  only  equal  to  "  Did  you  ever  I " 

And  we  damply  faded  away  in  the  direction 
of  the  station. 


122 


VII 

Just  Being  Neighbourly 

Those  superior  Londoners  who  know  nothing 
at  first  hand  about  Nature  "  unimproved,"  the 
type  who  find  complete  satisfaction  for  soul, 
body  and  mind  at  some  loud  and  crowded  sea- 
side resort,  sometimes  say  to  me :  "  I  can't  think 
how  you  can  endure  the  terrible  isolation  of  the 
country — with  absolutely  nothing  to  look  at,  no 
one  to  say  a  word,  nobody  to  take  the  shghtest 
interest  in  you,  dead  or  aHve.  Well,  /  should 
go  out  of  my  mind  in  such  soUtariness !  But 
then,  I  am  so  human  ;  I  do  hke  a  little  Ufe,"  etc. 

I  don't  attempt  to  convert  such  people. 
After  all,  they  are  just  as  much  entitled  to  their 
views  as  I  am  to  mine.  Besides,  I  am  only  too 
thankful  that  they  keep  away  from  our  hills,  and 
disport  themselves  in  an  environment  more  in 
keeping  with  their  personal  tastes.  We  don't 
want  the  blatant  woman,  or  the  overdressed 
(which  nowadays  means  underdressed)  woman, 
or  the  artificial  woman,  or  the  woman  who  "  Hkes 
a  little  life  "  ;  our  hills  would  never  suit  them 
as  a  background,  either  mentally  or  otherwise. 
Why,  we  have  neither  a  music-hall  nor  a  picture 
palace  for  I  don't  know  hoiv  many  miles  round ! 
A  benighted  spot,  isn't  it ! 

But  when  they  reproach  us  with  having  no 
one   to   say  a  word,  and   nobody  to   take   the 

123 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

slightest  interest  in  our  doings — well,  I  could 
say  many  things !  But  I  merely  assure  them 
that  we  are  nothing  if  not  neighbourly ! 

I  took  my  sewing  and  went  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  lower  orchard.  It  was  a  warm 
day,  but  not  too  hot  to  sit  out  of  doors  at  eleven 
in  the  morning,  provided  one  found  a  shelter 
from  the  sun  overhead.  As  I  have  explained 
before,  my  cottage  is  on  a  steep  hillside,  the 
whole  earth  runs  either  up  or  down.  In  only  a 
few  favoured  spots  can  you  place  a  chair — and 
sit  on  it — with  any  degree  of  certainty  ;  and  even 
then  you  probably  have  to  level  up  the  back,  or 
the  front,  by  putting  some  flat  stones  under  two 
of  the  legs.  The  slope  of  the  hill  faces  south ; 
hence  we  get  all  the  sun  there  is. 

The  bottom  of  the  lower  orchard  was  just  the 
place  for  such  a  day.  A  wall  with  overhanging 
tangles  of  honeysuckle  and  ivy,  and  an  oak-tree 
that  spread  big  arms  well  over  the  wall,  gave 
just  the  shade  one  needed  from  the  blazing  sun. 
I  put  the  wicker  chair  with  its  back  to  the  wall 
— and  such  a  comfort  a  wall  is  anywhere  out  of 
doors  when  you  want  to  sit  down. 

The  view  from  this  spot  is  very  restful  on  a 
summer's  day :  the  hot  south  is  behind ;  one 
faces  the  cooler,  glareless  northern  sky  above 
the  hill  that  rises  before  one. 

124 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

This  orchard  is  but  sparsely  populated  with 
fruit-trees,  and  most  of  these  are  very  old.  There 
are  some  huge  pear-trees  that  rise  tall  and  fairly 
straight,  suggestive  of  rather  well-fed  poplars. 
There  are  some  twisted,  rugged  apple-trees, 
every  branch  and  twig  presenting  a  wonderful 
study  in  silver  and  grey  and  green  filigree,  where 
the  Uchens  have  spread  and  revelled  unmolested 
for  many  a  year.  The  lichens  are  so  marvellously 
beautiful,  it  always  takes  me  quite  a  time  to  get 
down  to  the  lower  wall ;  there  is  so  much  to 
look  at  on  the  way.  The  delicate  fronds,  that 
seem  closely  related  in  their  appearance  to  the 
hoarfrost  designs  on  the  winter  windows,  show 
such  a  variety  of  different  cluster-schemes.  They 
decorate  the  odd  corners,  and  throw  beauty  over 
the  hard  knots  and  gnarls,  till  I  sometimes  think 
they  are  among  the  most  exquisite  things  Nature 
has  ever  produced — only  while  I  am  thinking 
this,  I  come  upon  something  else  equally 
beautiful. 

Even  on  a  hot  day,  when  most  of  the  mosses 
and  lichens  have  faded  in  the  glare  and  drought, 
we  still  find  the  silvery-grey  tracery  flourishing  on 
the  shady  side  of  the  apple-trees,  and  on  the  pieces 
of  branches  that  were  snapped  off  and  blown  down 
into  the  long  grass  by  the  equinoctial  gales.  I 
usually  gather  up  an  armful  of  these  branches, 
with  their  delicate  pencil  studies  on  a  darker 
background,  and  carry  them  down  to  the  bottom 

125 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

of  the  orchard  with  me — only  to  wonder  why  1 
didn't  leave  them  where  they  were  till  I  returned, 
as  I  have  to  carry  them  back  up  the  hill  again 
presently ! 

It  may  seem  weakly  sentimental  to  those 
who  do  not  understand,  but  I  confess  that, 
much  as  I  love  the  smell  of  burning  apple- 
wood,  it  always  gives  me  a  real  pain  to  put 
on  the  fire  twigs  that  are  ornamented  with  moss 
or  lichen.  It  seems  heartless  to  destroy  such 
beauty,  even  though  there  is  "plenty  more 
where  that  came  from,"  as  people  sometimes 
tell  me. 

In  the  summer  I  put  the  pieces  of  the  grey- 
green  branches,  that  I  gather  up  about  the 
orchard,  in  the  empty  hearths  and  grates. 

Many  of  the  old  trees  originally  planted  in 
the  lower  orchard  have  died  or  been  blown  down  ; 
the  wind  takes  a  heavy  toll  from  these  heights ; 
we  can't  have  pergolas  and  rose  arches  up  here, 
as  they  can  lower  down  in  the  valley,  unless  we 
fasten  them  to  very  firm  foundations. 

As  no  previous 'owner  in  this  happy-go-lucky 
district  thought  it  worth  whiles  to  put  new  stock 
in  the  place  of  the  fruit-trees  that  have  come 
down,  there  are  plenty  of  open  spaces,  and  com- 
paratively little  to  obstruct  the  view  as  you  sit 
against  the  bottom  wall  and  look  up  the  hillside. 
I  am  afraid  this  orchard  is  more  ornamental  than 
useful,  for  the  pears  are  the  hard  bitter  sort  used 

126 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

for  making  perry,  a  drink  that  is  very  popular 
locally ;  and  the  apples  are  the  equally  uninter- 
esting-to-the-taste  cider  variety.  Yet  they  are 
so  exceptionally  beautiful,  as  the  fruit  turns 
crimson  and  yellow  and  golden  brown,  that  the 
trees  become  a  glory  of  colour  in  fruit-gathering 
time. 

After  all  there  is  excuse  for  ornament  without 
specific  use,  if  a  thing  be  very,  very  ornamental 
— and  the  orchard  certainly  is  that. 

The  sun  reaches  well  under  the  trees,  where 
the  wild  flowers  and  grasses  make  a  softly  waving 
sea  of  colour.  Of  course,  I  know  the  grass  ought 
to  be  kept  cut,  so  as  to  prevent  undue  nourish- 
ment being  taken  from  the  earth  for  the  support 
of  "  mere  weeds."  But  we  pretend  that  it  is 
properly  cropped  by  "  Hussy ;  "  she  is  the  mild- 
eyed  dusky  Jersey,  belonging  to  the  farmeress 
who  supplies  our  milk,  and  is  so-called,  because 
she  has  a  playful  habit  of  kicking  over  the  pail. 

Occasionally  she  is  turned  in  and  roams  about 
at  meditative  leisure,  to  the  indignation  of  the 
small  dog,  who  regards  her  as  a  hated  rival.  But 
once  the  fruit  appears,  she  has  to  be  removed ; 
either  she  chokes  herself  with  pears,  or  else  they 
don't  agree  with  the  butter ;  or  various  other 
things.  Even  a  cow  seems  a  complicated  problem 
when  you  own  a  real  one ;  and  though  I  have 
only  had  cow-anxieties  secondhand,  so  to  speak, 
my  acquaintance  with  "  Hussy  "  has  led  me  to 

127 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

wonder  whether,  on  the  whole,  a  tin  of  milk  is  a 
more  sure  and  certain  investment  for  sixpence- 
halfpenny. 

But  even  when  the  orchard  has  a  tenant,  it  is 
surprising  how  little  damage  she  seems  to  do  to 
the  wild  flowers.  This  is  all  the  more  remark- 
able if  you  have  ever  seen  what  devastation  one 
simple-minded  cow  is  capable  of,  if  it  indulges 
in  but  a  ten  minutes'  revel  in  your  flower- 
garden  !  "  Hussy  "  seems  to  eat  carefully  round 
the  flowers,  leaving  the  whole  plant  intact,  which 
is  more  than  a  mowing  machine  will  do,  despite 
its  much  vaunted  up-to-dateness.  Civilisation 
has  still  a  lot  to  learn. 

Every  season  has  its  special  flower  show  in 
this  orchard.  1  only  wish  I  could  get  the  same 
never-failing  succession  of  flowers  in  my  garden 
that  Nature  does  in  hers. 

On  this  particular  July  day  the  large  field 
scabious  was  perhaps  the  most  noticeable  flower ; 
its  mauve-blue  blossoms  high  above  all  the  rest ; 
its  long  stalks  always  determining  to  out-top 
everything  else  that  grows  in  the  delightful 
medley. 

"Please,  ma'am,  I've  brought  you  some 
flowers,"  said  a  little  pinafored  girl  to  me  one 
day,  when  I  had  just  arrived.  She  is  an  especial 
favourite  of  mine,  and  lives  in  a  cottage  along 
my  lane.     This  is  her  way  of  just  being  neigh- 

128 


Just  Being 
*  Neighbourly 

bourly.  In  her  hand  was  a  large  bunch  of 
scabious  and  grasses. 

"  These  are  very  pretty,"  I  said.  "  What  do 
you  call  them  ?  " 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I  call  them  '  Queen  Mary's 
Pincushions,'  "  she  said  shyly. 

The  country  names  for  the  flowers  are  often 
so  much  more  interesting  than  the  ones  you  find 
attached  to  them  in  books.  After  all,  "  Queen 
Mary's  Pincushion"  has  something  real  and 
understandable  about  it  for  just  ordinary  people 
like  myself ;  whereas  Scahiosa  arvensis  (its  proper 
name)  doesn't  stir  my  heart  the  least  little  bit. 
It  was  easy  to  see  the  process  by  which  the  child 
had  got  the  name — the  flowers  are  wonderfully 
like  plump  round  pincushions,  with  the  stamens 
for  the  pins  :  but  anything  so  delicately  beautiful 
would  not  be  suitable  for  aught  save  a  royal 
lady's  dressing-table  ;  hence  Queen  Mary  was,  of 
course,  the  one  to  whom  they  were  dedicated. 

And  isn't  the  name  *'  Lady's  Laces "  most 
suggestive?  That  is  what  we  call  the  white 
filmy  flowers  of  the  hedge-parsley.  I  seldom 
see  a  fine  white  lace  evening  gown  without 
thinking  of  the  soft  mist  of  white  over  green 
that  surprises  us  in  June,  and  smothers  the 
orchard  when  the  Lady's  Laces  suddenly  burst 
into  billows  of  bloom. 

Some  of  the  local  names  are  more  material 
and   prosaic  than  idealistic,  however.    There  is 

129 


The  Flower- Patch 
among  the  Hills 

another  flower  that  grows  all  about  the  orchard, 
in  close  company  with  the  scabious ;  it  has 
bunches  of  bright  yellow  flowers  of  the  daisy 
family,  growing  in  compact  heads  at  the  top  of  a 
tall  stem.  I  am  very  fond  of  this  flower ;  it  gleams 
sunshine  all  over  the  place ;  but  I  don't  care  to 
call  it  Senecio  Jacohcea,  which  is  its  proper  name  ; 
it's  so  mortifying  when  people  look  at  you  puzzled 
and  inquiring,  and  then  ask,  with  a  patient  sigh, 
if  you  would  mind  spelling  it !  I  never  could  spell. 

Neither  do  I  care  for  its  other  slightly  less 
ofiicial  name,  "  Common  Ragwort."  So  one  day 
when  an  old  man  was  passing,  who  is  fairly  well- 
up  in  flowers,  I  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  me 
the  name  of  this  Sunshine  plant.  To  which  he 
replied — 

"  Wealluscallsemards'm." 

I  didn't  ask  him  to  spell  it,  because  I  don't 
fancy  he  can  spell  any  better  than  I  can.  I 
merely  said,  "  I  don't  think  I  quite  caught  the 
name  ? " 

"  I  said  '  'ards,'  Mum  ;  {crescendo)  *  'ARDS.' 
We  alius  calls  'em  that  'cos  they're  so  'ard  to 
puU  up." 

I  thanked  him,  and  still,  in  secret,  call  them 
the  Sunshine  flowers — though  I  admit  that 
Virginia,  having  recently  set  out  gaily  to  rectify 
my  shocking  laxity  in  the  matter  of  the  proper 
cultivation  of  an  orchard,  at  last  decided  herself 
to  call  them  "  'Ards."     She  found  that  the  act 

130 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

of  sitting  down  violently  and  unexpectedly  so 
many  times  in  the  course  of  trying  to  pull  up  a 
few  innocent-looking  plants,  wore  her  out  more 
than  it  did  the  'ards  ;  so  she  gave  it  up  at  length, 
and  there  they  remain  until  this  day  ! 

Intermingling  with  Queen  Mary's  Pincushions 
and  the  Sunshine  flowers  is  a  rosy  purple  flower 
that  blends  dehghtfully  with  the  other  two ; 
Knapweed  is  one  of  its  names ;  it  looks  some- 
thing like  a  thistle  bloom  at  a  distance,  but  it  is 
really  a  relation  of  the  Sweet  Sultan  that  grows 
in  the  garden  beds,  I  believe. 

Then  there  are  Harebells  dancing  in  the 
wind  on  the  top  of  little  grassy  mounds  ;  so  frail 
they  look — yet  "  Hussy  "  never  seems  to  walk 
on  them !  Ragged  Robins  flutter  pink  petals 
beside  a  little  brook  that  runs  down  at  the  side 
of  the  orchard  ;  and  here  are  also  big  blue  forget- 
me-nots,  with  bright  yellow  centres. 

But  there  is  one  thing  about  this  orchard 
that  very  few  people  have  discovered,  and  that 
is  the  host  of  sweet-smelling  things  that  you 
walk  on  or  rub  against,  as  you  carry  the  wicker- 
chair  down  to  the  bottom  wall. 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  like  to  walk  on 
Pennyroyal  and  Sweet  Basil  ?  Have  you  ever 
stood  still  suddenly  and  said,  "  What  is  it  ?  "  as 
a  delicious  aromatic  scent  added  itself  to  all  the 
other  lovely  scents  floating  around  ? 

I  discovered  a  whole  world  of  beautiful  scents 
131 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

in  among  the  orchard  grass.  The  Pennyroyal 
was  most  unsuspicious-looking,  till  I  stepped  on 
it.  (I  didn't  mean  to  step  on  it ;  but  then  one 
must  walk  somewhere  I)  Next  I  found  out  the 
Sweet  Basil,  with  its  unobtrusive  pink  flowers. 

Still  I  hadn't  found  it  all ;  a  little  later  I  came 
upon  some  wild  mint  beside  the  brook.  The 
tansy  I  had  long  been  friendly  with ;  the  scent 
of  it  seems  to  fit  in  so  exactly  with  a  hot  summer 
day  ;  and  the  wild  thyme  that  grows  on  a  sunny 
bank  at  one  side  of  the  orchard  you  couldn't 
possibly  miss,  the  bees  have  so  much  to  say 
about  it.  Bushes  of  balm,  that  have  possibly 
strayed  away  from  the  garden,  are  always  at 
hand,  to  rub  a  leaf  when  desired. 

But  I  think  of  all  my  favourites,  the  black 
peppermint  has  first  place.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  day  I  first  discovered  its  dark  shoots 
pushing  up  undaunted  among  the  grass  ;  not 
but  what  I  had  a  long-standing  friendship  with 
peppermint — in  my  first  childhood,  as  bull's-eyes ; 
in  my  second  childhood,  as  peppermint  creams. 

But  I  hadn't  the  slightest  notion  what  it  was 
like  in  its  natural  state.  When  once  I  found  it, 
I  soon  realised  that  it  stood  alone  among  all  the 
scented  wonders.  I  put  some  of  it  at  various 
corners  about  the  garden,  because  I  found  it 
has  remarkable  healing  powers.  No  matter  how 
dispirited  you  may  be  or  out  of  joint  with  the 
world,  it  is  only  necessary  to  take  a  leaf,  rub  it 

132 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

and  sniff  it,  whereupon  the  world  smiles  again, 
and  you  realise  that,  in  spite  of  all,  it  is  good  to 
be  alive.  You  will  understand,  therefore,  how 
essential  it  is  to  have  it  in  handy  places,  so  that 
weary  people,  even  if  they  do  not  know  of  its 
unique  quahties,  may  rub  against  it  in  passing, 
and  unconsciously  come  under  its  spell. 

It  dies  down  in  the  winter,  but  when  spring 
comes  we  always  look  eagerly  for  the  first  purple- 
black  shoots  pushing  up  cheerily  from  the  soil. 

It  has  only  one  fault ;  it  suffers  from  zeal 
without  discretion.  It  will  not  keep  within 
proper  bounds.  At  the  present  moment  I  am 
wondering  whether  it  is  better  to  dig  up  the 
bergamot  or  rout  out  the  peppermint ;  they  are 
having  a  hand-to-hand  fight  for  supremacy  in 
one  particular  flower  corner. 

I  am  afraid  my  needlework  was  a  mere 
matter  of  form  that  morning.  Who  could  glue 
their  eyes  to  a  piece  of  hemstitching  with  the 
whole  earth  fairly  dancing  with  colour  and  light 
around  them  ?  I  faintly  (but  not  very  earnestly) 
wished  that  I  had  brought  knitting  instead  of 
sewing,  because  that  doesn't  need  to  be  looked 
at,  and  you  can  keep  up  a  semblance  of  respect- 
able industry  while  you  are  watching  all  the 
wild  things. 

I  had  been  feeling  rather  aggravated  with  a 
woman  who  had  written  commiserating  with  my 

133 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

odd  predilection  for  being  "  buried "  in  a  spot 
where  there  was  "positively  nothing  to  be  seen." 
She  was  really  pitying  me  !  Well,  I  pitied  her 
back,  and  pitied  her  hard  ;  had  she  only  known 
it,  she  would  have  been  aggravated  too.  So  at 
least  we  were  quits.  She  had  said  that,  for  her 
part,  she  should  simply  die  in  such  an  unsociable 
place.  I  took  care  to  be  just  as  sorry  for  her  as 
she  was  for  me :  it  was  a  slight  satisfaction  to 
me  I  It  was  at  this  moment  that  I  heard  voices 
of  two  women  talking  in  the  lane,  hidden  from 
view  by  the  orchard  wall. 

"  How's  yourself,  Mrs.  Blake  ? " 

"  Only  middling."  (We  always  start  our 
conversations  with  lugubriousness  ;  it  seems 
indecorous  to  parade  health  and  happiness  before 
our  neighbours  !)  "  I'm  in  a  tearing  hurry.  I've 
just  been  to  the  doctor's  to  see  if  he  can't  give 
me  something  for  my  poor  Jim's  tooth.  It  do 
pester  him  something  cruel.  I  promised  him  I'd 
run  all  the  way  there  and  back ;  he'll  be  raving 
till  I  get  back." 

"Ah,  he  won't  get  no  peace  till  he  has  it 
out,  I  reckon." 

"The  doctor  says  why  don't  he  have  'em 
out  and  get  some  new  'uns?  But  I  call  it 
waste.  Look  at  my  sister's  husband :  cost  him 
a  guinea  his  did  !  Of  course,  he  got  a  complete 
set  top  and  bottom  for  that,  fifty-three  teeth 
altogether  I  believe  he  told  me,  and  as  natural 

134 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

as  you  please,  I'll  own.  But  seeing  as  of  course 
he's  got  to  take  'em  out  to  eat,  I  call  it  spending 
just  for  show,  even  if  they  do  give  you  a  good 
mouthful  for  your  money." 

"  By  the  way,  speaking  of  teeth  reminds  me 
— only  I  can't  stop  to  tell  you  all  about  it  now, 
as  the  children '11  be  in  from  school  at  half-past 
twelve,  and  I  haven't  started  the  dinner  yet — 
but  I've  just  heard  that  poor  Mrs.  Jeggins  over 
to  Brownbrook's  gone." 

"  Pore  thing  !     Is  she  though  ?  " 

"  Yes,  your  mentioning  Jim's  tooth  made  me 
think  of  it.  They  fancy  it  started  with  a  tooth 
in  her  case  too  ;  for  she  had  faceache  turrible  bad 
about  six  months  ago,  her  husband  told  me. 
And  then  it  just  went  all  over  her  like.  The 
doctor  simply  couldn't  do  nothing  with  it.  He 
tried  every  mortal  bottle  he  had  in  his  surgery, 
and  gave  her  some  out  of  every  single  one,  and 
yet  she  died  !     But  there,  I  s'pose  it  had  to  be  I  " 

"  I  heeard  tell  from  her  sist'r-'n-law  as  she 
drank  somethin'  awful ;  but,  mind  you,  if  it's  a 
lie,  'taint  my  lie  ;  it's  her  lie  as  told  me.  And  I 
don't  at  all  hold  with  repeating  a  thing  like  that. 
But  in  any  case,  I  shouldn't  think  it  was  her 
tooth !  I  expect  she  et  something  that  didn't 
agree  with  her." 

"  Well,  maybe ;  as  I  always  say,  you  can't  be 
too  careful  what  you  eat  nowadays.  The  dinner 
they've  got  up  there  smells  tasty,  don't  it  ? " 

135  K 


The  Flower-Patoh 
among  the  Hills 

'*  Yes  ;  it's  roast  duck." 

"  Duck,  is  it  ?  I  didn't  know  they'd  had  a 
duck  this  week.     Who  did  they  get  it  from  ?  " 

"  Sarah  Ann  Perkins — that  old  brown  one  of 
hers." 

"  The  hrown  one !  How  much  did  she  ask 
for  it  ?  " 

"  Four  -  and  -  six."  (An  audible  chuckle.) 
"Yes,  four-and-six,  if  you  believe  me  !  Fancy 
her  having  the  face  to  ask  it  for  that  brown 
duck !  But  there,  those  that  can  afford  to  pay 
may  just  as  well  do  so  for  those  who  can't." 

"  Just  as  well.  But — four-and-six  !  And  she 
won't  finish  it  up  neither ;  doesn't  care  for  cold 
poultry,  I'm  told  ;  she'll  have  a  fair  slice  from 
the  breast,  but  that's  all ;  never  allows  it  to  be 
seen  in  the  dining-room  a  second  time.  And 
there's  only  the  two  of  them  there  now.  Still, 
that  Abigail's  a  hearty  eater  !  My  husband  was 
up  there  a-fixing  a  tile  that  had  got  loosish  on 
the  roof,  and  he  told  me  what  she  et  that  day. 
A  gammon  rasher  and  an  egg  and  four  slices  of 
bread  and  butter  and  a  piece  of  fried  bread  out 
of  the  frying-pan  and  two  cups  of  coffee — half 
milk — and  some  jam  for  breakfast.  He  was  just 
a-going  up  the  ladder  past  the  kitchen  window 
at  the  time  ;  and  when  he  come  down,  finding 
as  he  needed  a  bit  of  cement,  she  was  having 
lunch  of  bread  and  cheese  and  a  cup  o'  tea  out 
of  her  lady's  teapot — she  always  has  a  cup  of  tea 

136 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

between  'leven  and  twelve — and  he'd  smoked  his 
pipe  right  out  afore  she'd  finished.  And  when  he 
come  down  again  at  dinner-time  she  was  having 
a  dinner  fit  for  a  growed  man  just  come  home 
from  the  cattle  market — made  him  hungry  to  see 
her,  it  did ;  he  hung  about  a  bit  looking  for  his 
jack-knife,  as  he  wanted  something  to  measure 
with.  And  at  tea-time  he  went  in  for  a  drop  o' 
water  to  mix  the  cement,  and  she  was  having 
potted  meat  and  toast — butter,  too,  not  dripping 
toast,  if  you  ever  did.  But,  of  course,  she 
relishes  the  good  vittles  she  gets  in  a  country 
place  like  ourn.  So  different  to  the  stuff  you  get 
in  a  town." 

"  You're  right  there  ;  but  they  do  have  a 
sight  o'  things  down  from  London.  There  was 
a  box  with  *  Army  and  Navy  Stores '  writ  on 
it  that  was  so  heavy,  it  was  all  old  Bob  could 
do  to  get  it  on  his  shoulder,  with  our  Tom 
to  give  him  a  hand.  Old  Bob  said  he'd  been 
reading  in  the  papers  what  awful  waste  there  is 
in  some  o'  the  army  camps  and  how  the  food 
gets  throw'd  away  or  sold  by  the  cartload,  to 
get  rid  of  it,  but  he  didn't  know  it  was  going 
on  in  the  navy  too — wicked,  I  call  it.  They 
thought  it  must  be  tinned  things,  it  were  such  a 
weight,  but  they  couldn't  make  out  for  sure, 
though  they  rattled  it  ever  so  hard  to  see  ;  it  was 
packed  up  awful  tight." 

"  Taters   weigh   heavy,   but   it   wouldn't   be 

137  K   2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

they ;  she's  got  plenty,  what  with  new  ones 
coming  on  soon,  and  a  large  box  left  still  of  the 
old  ones  ;  I  saw  them  in  the  scullery  last  time  I 
was  there.  I'm  going  to  ask  if  I  can  have  'em, 
I'm  so  short  for  the  pig.  It  might  have  been 
soap  and  soda  and  hearthstone,  though  ;  they  all 
weighs  heavy." 

"  That's  true.  StiU,  I  know  for  certain  she  has 
a  heap  of  queer  things  sent  down,  because  when 
I  was  in  Jane  Price's  the  other  day,  she  had  a  pot 
of  something  called  '  tunny  fish,'  whatever  that 
may  be,  on  the  dresser.  I  asked  her  what  it  was. 
She  told  me  she  was  passing  here  one  day  and 
thought  she  heard  someone  calling  her  name ;  so 
she  stepped  inside  and  looked  around.  No  one 
was  there,  but  she  chanced  to  pass  the  back  door, 
and  there  on  the  top  of  the  dustbin  she  saw  this 
pot.  She  brought  it  away  with  her  just  to  ask 
our  Tom  if  he  knew  what  it  was ;  but  he  says 
they  don't  catch  it  about  here ;  never  heeard  tell 
on  it.  Still,  those  sort  of  things  aren't  like  a 
nice  piece  of  fat  bacon  to  my  taste,  to  say 
nothing  of  duck ;  though  I  like  a  bit  more  pick- 
ing on  mine  than  they'll  be  on  that  brown  one,  I 
reckon." 

"  D'you  know,  I  expect  they're  cooking  it 
now  to  have  it  cold  for  the  company's  supper  to- 
night, because  in  any  case  they  don't  need  it 
to-day.  They  had  two  chops  and  a  shoulder  of 
lamb  and  some  gravy  beef  on  Saturday.   I  met  the 

138 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

boy  taking  it  up,  and  asked  him  what  he  had. 
They'd  have  the  chops  that  day,  and  the  lamb 
roast  on  Sunday,  and  cold  Monday  ;  and  it's  only 
Tuesday  now,  and  they  can't  have  finished  it  up 
— it  was  a  fair-sized  one ;  and  there's  the  gravy 
beef  soup.  You  may  depend  it's  for  the 
visitors." 

"  Oh  I  I  didn't  know  she  was  expecting  com- 
pany ?  It  won't  be  Miss  Virginia  and  her  sister, 
because  they're  abroad.  She  asked  my  husband 
to  call  for  her  afternoon  letters  as  he  was  passing 
the  post-office  yesterday,  and  he  brought  'em  up, 
and  there  was  a  postcard  with  a  picture  on  it  of 
some  foreign  place,  and  it  said, '  This  is  our  hotel ; 
enjoying  ourselves  immensely  ;  expect  to  be  here 
a  fortnight.'  And  there  was  something  written 
at  the  bottom  that  I  couldn't  make  out,  but  it 
might  have  been  a  '  V,'  or  a  '  U,'  only  it  was 
smudged  so's  you  couldn't  see  what  it  was.  So 
it  was  sure  to  be  from  them." 

"  No,  it  wasn't  they  two ;  'twasn't  their  trunks." 

"  More  than  one  trunk,  is  there  ?  Then 
they're  going  to  stay  a  little  while.  My  Buff 
Orpingtons  have  started  to  lay  again ;  that's 
lucky.     How  many  do  you  say  were  coming  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  for  certain,  but  I  fancy  it  must 
be  three,  because  there  were  two  blankets,  one 
single-bed  and  one  double,  hanging  in  the  sun 
when  I  came  past  yesterday,  and  Abigail  was 
polishing  the  downstairs  winders,  and  she'd  got 

139 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

clean  cutt'ns  to  the  little  room  over  the  kitchen, 
as  well  as  in  the  sittin'-room.  Not  that  there 
was  any  need  to  put  up  clean  cutt'ns,  that  I  can 
see ;  those  in  the  sittin'-room  had  only  been  up 
two  months,  and  the  upstairs  ones  were  new  last 
time  she  was  down  here ;  you  could  tell  they 
were  new,  the  musUn  hung  so  stiff.  I  take  it  a 
cutt'n  isn't  properly  washed  if  it  don't  last  six 
months  at  least.  But  she's  very  pertickler  about 
cutt'ns.  Abigail  told  my  Mabel,  that  in  London 
they  don't  never  dream  of  keeping  a  cutt'n  up 
more  than  a  month,  and  often  th 'whole  lot  is 
changed  in  a  fortnight ;  and  just  think,  the 
winders  is  done  ef^ery  week  \  Send  me  crazy,  it 
would  1  I  don't  think  it's  healthy  to  be  as  finnicky 
clean  as  that;  why,  you're  always  opening 
winders  and  letting  in  draughts.  And  now  this 
morning  I  see  she's  got  the  cutt'ns  down  in  the 

Flower  room " 

«  The  Flower  room  ?  Which  be  that  ?  " 
"  Oh,  it's  the  name  they've  give  the  one  on 
the  right  at  the  top  o'  the  stairs.  It's  got  a  new 
laylock  paper  on  the  wall,  and  she's  got  a  new 
bedspread,  white,  with  bunches  of  laylock  all 
about  it,  and  a  bit  o'  eeliertrope  sateen  hangs 
down  behind  the  head  of  the  bed  to  keep  the 
draught  off,  though  it  'ud  be  far  more  sense  to 
shut  the  winder,  /  say,  for  that  sateen's  faded 
dretful  in  the  folds  already.  I  was  only  noticing 
it  th 'other  day,  when  my  cousin  was  up  from 

140 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

Woolv'ampton,  and  I  took  her  over  the  house. 
.  .  .  Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  Widow'll  lend  me  the  key 
any  time  "  (Mrs.  Widow  is  my  caretaker),  "  and 
it  do  make  a  bit  of  a  change  to  take  anyone  to. 
My  cousin  said  at  the  time  she'd  never  buy  a 
bedspread  Uke  that ;  the  colour's  so  fleeting. 
Besides,  she  wouldn't  have  a  white  ground  in 
any  case,  it's  always  in  the  wash.  She's  made 
herself  a  lovely  spread,  she  was  telling  me,  out  of 
a  pair  of  old  long  curtains,  just  cutting  out  the 
bad  places  and  then  dyeing  it  a  deep  coffee 
colour  with  a  httle  cold  tea ;  makes  it  last  like 
anything.  I  say  the  same ;  them  white  spreads 
never  pay  for  themselves.  Though  1  rather  like 
the  one  she's  got  with  roses  on — Hannah 
Craddock  was  a-washing  of  it  one  day  when  I 
dropped  in"  (Hannah  is  the  village  laundress), 
"  that  was  the  last  time  Miss  Ursula  was  down, 
because  Hannah  was  doing  of  her  blouses  that 
week,  and  my  Mabel  was  very  taken  with  one 
that  had  bits  of  crochet  let  in  all  about,  and 
points  of  it  up  the  sleeves  just  here,  and  my 
Mabel  tried  to  copy  it,  only  Hannah  had  promised 
it  home  that  very  afternoon,  so  we're  waiting  for 
it  to  come  again,  as  Mabel  can't  get  the  yoke 
quite  right.  I'm  sorry  it  isn't  them  who's 
coming.  She  wants  to  get  it  finished  afore 
she  goes  to  London  next  month." 

"  Did   you   see    the    name   on  the  trunks  ? 
Now  you  mention  it,  I  saw  the  boy  taking  a 

141 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

telegraft  up  to  the  house  yesterday — no,  the  day 
before." 

"  It  was  my  husband  told  me  about  it,  when 
he  looked  in  home  just  now,  and  his  sight  being 
so  poor,  he  couldn't  see  the  name  "  (in  spite  of 
the  Educational  Authorities  many  of  the  men  in 
our  village  cannot  read,  but  by  courtesy  it  is 
always  referred  to  as  poor  sight !),  "  so  he  asked 
the  station-master  if  he  should  drop  'em  any- 
where, as  he  had  got  her  ladyship's  cart  there. 
He  is  helping  at  the  Manor  House  to-day.  He'd 
just  taken  some  hay  to  the  station,  and  it  seemed 
a  real  waste  o'  good  time  to  do  nothing  with  it 
coming  back.  But  the  station-master  said  they 
was  for  up  here,  and  old  Bob  was  taking  'em  up 
as  the  ladies  wouldn't  have  the  fly ;  said  they'd 
pefer  to  walk.  And,  would  you  believe  it,  he 
never  so  much  as  thought  to  ask  how  many 
there  were.  Still,  I'll  soon  find  out  and  let  you 
know.  I'll  go  up  and  ask  Abigail  if  she  can 
oblige  me  with  the  loan  of  a  little  salt.  I've  a 
couple  of  ducks  myself  as  I'd  be  glad  to  get  four- 
and-six  apiece  for  if "■ 

At  this  moment  Abigail  appeared  at  the 
cottage  door,  and  the  gong  reverberated  and 
echoed  as  she  gave  it  a  vigorous  hammering, 
calculated  to  wake  me  up  wherever  I  might  be. 

"  Good  gracious,  that's  for  her  one  o'clock 
dinner  I "  exclaimed  both  the  women  in  one 
breath,   and    fled    in    opposite    directions,   pre- 

142 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

sumably  to   minister   to   the    raving    and    the 
ravenous ! 

As  the  conversation  had  implied,  the  duck 
was  tough  and  inadequate ;  but  it  was  a  certain 
satisfaction  to  me — as  I  sought  about  in  vain  for 
a  fairly  good  slice  from  the  breast  of  the  skinny 
carcase — to  reflect  that  I  hadn't  paid  for  it  as 
yet.  1  was  out  when  the  youthful  Perkins  had 
dehvered  it. 

For  the  rest,  I  didn't  attach  any  value  to  the 
women's  gossip.  Once  you  have  any  real  footing 
in  a  rural  district,  and  have  become  part  and 
parcel  of  the  country-side,  you  soon  learn  that 
one  impossibility  is  "  terrible  isolation."  From 
rosy  morn  till  dewy  eve  one  or  another  woman 
is  engaged  in  lengthy  gossip  with  any  other  she 
meets,  and  in  nearly  every  case  the  topic  of 
exhaustive  conversation  will  be  the  doings  of 
somebody  else  ;  moreover,  the  less  that  is  actu- 
ally known  about  the  third  and  absent  party  the  , 
more  two  and  two  will  add  up  to  nineteen. 

In  the  main,  I  have  seldom  found  such 
gossips  either  spiteful  or  slanderous.  They 
consider  it  being  neighbourly  to  keep  count 
vof  your  sayings  and  doings. 

There  were  two  items  in  the  women's  chatter 
that  were  enlightening,  however.  I  had  always 
suspected  that  Mrs.  Price  knew  where  certain 
items   from   my  store   cupboard  had  gone  one 

143 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

winter's  night  when  the  cottage  was  uninhabited 
and  the  kitchen  window  forced.  I  doubt  if  there 
was  another  person  in  the  place  who  would  have 
done  it.  Still  I  was  glad  to  have  the  mystery 
cleared  up. 

I  was  not  surprised  to  hear  that  all  and  sundry 
had  the  run  of  my  house  when  I  wasn't  there. 
The  Englishwoman  who  occupies  any  house  of 
more  than  six  rooms,  we  will  say  (which  she  can 
keep  clean  her  unaided  self),  knows  that  she  never 
can  call  any  room  her  own,  excepting  the  one  she 
chances  to  be  in  at  the  moment — and  not  even 
that  one  if  the  British  workman  happens  to  be  in 
the  ascendant  I  It  is  one  of  the  compensations 
of  life  that  the  smaller  our  habitation,  the  more 
we  ourselves  get  out  of  it  personally — a  kind  of 
"  intensive  "  interest.  Whereas  the  larger  our 
domains,  the  more  imposing  our  houses,  the 
more  numerous  our  rooms,  the  more  they  are 
monopoUsed  by  other  people — paid  assistants  for 
the  most  part — to  the  exclusion  of  ourselves. 

In  my  own  very  humble  way  I  soon  reaUsed 
that  even  my  country  cottage  and  its  contents 
were  only  my  own  so  long  as  I  could  sit  on 
them,  so  to  speak.  I  early  discovered  that  my 
sheets  and  pillow-cases,  my  towels  and  table- 
cloths, were  not  allowed  to  lead  a  life  of  idle, 
selfish  exclusiveness  in  my  absences.  Mrs. 
Widow's  enterprising  married  daughter  quickly 
furnished  a  room  at  her  own  cottage  over  an 

144 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

outhouse  which  had  hitherto  been  used  as  a 
lumber  garret ;  this  she  could  always  let  in  the 
summer,  when  the  big  houses  in  the  neighbour- 
hood were  full  up  with  visitors  and  extra  rooms 
were  needed. 

Of  course,  at  times  I  proved  exceedingly  tire- 
some, and  turned  up  at  inconvenient  moments. 
But  in  such  an  emergency  neighbours  would 
assist  her  with  the  loan  of  a  sheet  here  and 
there  and  a  towel  or  two,  if  mine  had  to  be 
returned  hastily.  I  have  always  found  the  poor 
most  ready  to  help  each  other — especially  when 
it  was  a  case  of  "doing"  someone  who  was  a 
little  better  off. 

No,  I  was  not  surprised  that  Mrs.  Widow 
graciously  bestowed  my  door-key  on  her  friends 
in  search  of  an  afternoon's  recreation ;  but  I  was 
just  a  trifle  curious  to  know  how  they  had  got 
hold  of  the  lilac  bedspread,  seeing  that  it  was  put 
away  in  a  cupboard  that  possessed — so  I  prided 
myself — a  unique  lock;  and  it  had  never  been 
used  yet — at  least,  not  by  me  I 

After  dinner  I  wrestled  womanfully  with  the 
overpowering  desire  to  go  down  the  orchard 
again  and  do  nothing ;  but  a  shower  seemed 
threatening,  and  I  decided  to  answer  letters  and 
correct  proofs  indoors.  I  told  myself  I  would 
put  in  a  full  afternoon  at  really  solid  work,  and 
would  even  carry  it  right  on  into  the  night,  if 

145 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

need  be,  without  a  moment's  cessation  save  for 
the  conventional  nourishment — this,  in  order  to 
clear  up  some  of  my  arrears,  and  to  enable  me 
to  garden  the  whole  of  next  day  with  a  perky 
conscience. 

"  How  do  you  kill  time  on  a  wet  day  in  the 
country?  "people  sometimes  ask  me.  It's  simple 
enough.     Here  is  the  recipe : 

*  Draw  up  a  chair  to  the  table  ;  get  out  ink 
and  pens  from  one  of  the  aged  oak  cupboards 
beside  the  fireplace.  Open  the  dresser  drawers 
and  haul  out  stacks  of  unanswered  queries  from 
magazine  readers,  the  office  staff,  printers,  block- 
makers,  artists,  authors,  and  from  people  of 
whom  I  know  nothing  (friends  and  relatives 
gave  me  up  long  ago  !). 

Next,  take  the  heavy  lid  right  off  the  oak 
chest  (hinges  were  broken  fifty  years  ago,  so  it 
won't  lift  up  properly),  dive  in  for  armfuls  of 
MSS.,  proofs,  photographs,  diagrams,  sketches ; 
place  same  on  table ;  proceed  to  hunt  among 
same  for  some  one  particular  thing  I  feel  I  ought 
to  deal  with  at  that  particular  moment  (though  it 
may  have  lain  unhonoured  and  unsung  for  weeks) ; 
can't  find  it  anywhere.  Go  through  everything 
again,  this  time  classifying  matter  slightly  by 
putting  it  in  piles  around  me  on  the  floor  ;  still 
can't  find  it,  but  unearth  much  else  that  ought 
to  have  been  attended  to  long  ago  but  wasn't. 

Decide  to  search  upstairs ;  turn  out  trunks, 
146 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

turn  out  cupboards,  turn  out  drawers  (incidentally 
discover  and  meditate  upon  various  things  need- 
ing mending) ;  forget  what  I  was  looking  for ; 
go  on  searching  for  it ;  remember  presently,  and 
eventually  run  it  to  earth  in  my  blotting-book 
downstairs,  where,  if  I  had  had  any  sense,  I 
should  have  looked  in  the  first  instance.  Breathe 
freely,  sit  down — rather  exhausted — to  serious 
work. 

A  tap  at  the  door  ;  "  May  I  come  in  ?  " 
Enter  visitor  No.  1.  And  then  they  follow  in 
quick  succession. 

Finally,  Abigail  kindly  undertakes  to  tidy  up 
my  papers  "  without  disturbing  a  single  thing  !  "  * 

Next  day  (if  still  wet)  you  repeat  from  *  to  ♦, 
as  they  tell  us  in  the  crochet  patterns. 

I  had  just  got  settled  to  work  on  the  missing- 
and-now-discovered  letter,  when  Abigail  tapped 
and  entered. 

"I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you,  ma'am,  but  could 
you  spare  me  one  of  those  Missionary  books  ?  " 
pointing  to  a  shelf  containing  a  selection  of  the 
annual  reports  of  religious  and  philanthropic 
societies. 

Now  for  some  time  past  I  had  been  trying  to 
interest  Abigail — who  is  a  church  member — in 
foreign  missions.  I  rather  prided  myself  that  I 
had  done  it  tactfully,  not  forcing  it  upon  her, 
but  just  arousing  her  interest  by  taking  her  to 

147 


The  Flower-PatiA 
among  the  Hills 

attractive  meetings.  I  found  that  she  had  even 
gone  to  one  on  her  own  account.  Hence  I  was 
naturally  pleased  to  find  that  she  was  anxious  to 
follow  up  the  subject ;  but  as  I  did  not  consider 
an  ordinary  official  report,  with  its  small  print, 
and  balance-sheets  and  monotonous  lists  of  sub- 
scribers, the  type  of  literature  best  calculated 
to  enthuse  the  novice,  I  reached  down  a  small 
volume  of  bright  stories  of  girl-life  in  India,  well 
illustrated  and  prettily  got-up. 

"  Here  is  just  the  very  thing,"  I  said.  But  she 
took  it  reluctantly,  dubiously,  turning  it  about 
and  looking  it  over  in  a  dissatisfied  manner. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it's  one  Hke  that  I  want," 
pointing  to  a  solid  tome  issued  by  one  of  the 
most  revered  of  our  missionary  societies.  "  Can 
I  have  that  one  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  acquiesced,  though  it  was  an 
out-of-date  report,  and  I  knew  the  other  book 
would  have  suited  her  better. 

"  Yes,  that's  just  right,"  she  said  cheerfully, 
as  I  handed  it  to  her.  **  That  other 'd  be  too 
thin ;  it's  to  go  under  the  back  leg  of  the  side 
table  in  the  kitchen,  where  the  stone  floor's 
broken.  I've  used  one  like  this  regular  since  last 
summer,  but  it's  getting  shabby.  I  thought  a 
new  one  would  smarten  us  up  a  bit." 

I  remember  on  one  occasion  being  at  a 
missionary  meeting  for  young  people,  at  which 

148 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

there  was  a  remarkably  fine  speaker  from  the 
foreign  mission  field.  He  said  that  if  any  felt 
they  had  a  call  to  take  part  in  the  work  in  any 
way,  he  would  be  pleased  to  see  them  at  the 
close.  When  the  meeting  was  over,  a  small  boy 
approached  the  platform.  "  Please  can  I  speak 
to  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  lad,"  said  the  speaker,  shaking 
him  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  Now,  what  is  it  ? 
You  can  talk  quite  frankly  to  me." 

"  Well,  I  wondered  if — er " 

"  Have  no  hesitation,  my  boy,  in  asking  me 
anything  you  like." 

"  Well,  do  you  happen  to  have  any  foreign 
postage  stamps  ?  " 

Just  as  I  had  settled  down  again,  somewhat 
chastened,  to  my  much  neglected  work,  there 
was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  lady  of  the 
manor  was  shown  in. 

"  I  see  you're  busy,"  she  began  ;  "  but  I  won't 
keep  you  a  moment.  I  only  want  to  ask  you  if 
you're  expecting  Miss  Virginia  and  her  sister  this 
afternoon  ?  No  ?  Oh,  I  am  sorry  !  I  did  hope 
they  were  coming.  But,  anyhow,  whoever  it  is, 
do  you  think  they  would  help  to-morrow  at  the 
Sale  of  Work?  Two  visitors  I  was  expecting 
have  failed  me,  and  I've  no  one  possible  for  the 
picture  post-cards  or  the  pinafores.  They  needn't 
know  anything  about  it,  you  know ;  it  only  wants 

149 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

someone  who  can  reckon  up  that  seven  penny 
cards  comes  to  sevenpence,  and  that's  one  and 
ninepence  change  out  of  half-a-crown,  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  Now,  do  you  think  your  friends 
would  help  ?  " 

**  But  I've  no  friends  coming,"  I  said. 

"  HaverCt  you  ?   Why,  I  quite  understood 

I  was  caUing  on  Miss  Primkins  just  now  (she's 
jam  and  jelly,  you  know),  and  I  asked  her  if  she 
couldn't  put  it  on  the  pinafores — it  would  look 
quite  decorative,  and  in  this  way  I  should  save 
a  stall;  even  then  we  shall  be  very  crowded. 
Mrs.  Blake  had  just  been  in  to  say  she  couldn't 
spare  Miss  Primkins  the  duck  she  had  ordered, 
because  you  had  visitors  arriving  to-day  and 
would  want  a  pair  for  Sunday." 

"  Oh  I !  Well,  I'm  not  having  visitors,  neither 
am  I  having  the  ducks.  But  I'll  come  down 
myself  to-morrow,  if  that's  any  help,  and  keep 
one  eye  on  the  pinafores  and  one  on  the  picture 
postcards.  And  I  think  my  mental  arithmetic 
will  be  just  right  for  the  change  you  give." 

"  But,  don't  you  remember,  you've  already 
promised  to  look  after  the  bookstall  ?  You  sent 
us  that  big  box  of  books  months  ago,  with  some 
of  your  own  books  in — which  I  want  you  to 
autograph,  by  the  way.  So  I  was  going  to  ask 
you  if  at  the  same  time  you'd  manage  the  jumble 
corner — the  two  things  would  go  very  well 
together." 

150 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

1  agreed  with  her  heartily. 

"  Oh,  you  know  I  don't  mean  anything  hke 
that ! "  she  added  hastily.  "  I  only  meant  that 
you  could  more  easily  turn  from  selling  lovely 
books,  to  dispose  of  one  of  your  own  done-with- 
but-still-charming  coats  and  skirts,  for  instance, 
than  if  you  had  to  cut  up  for  the  refreshment 
stall,  and  return  with  buttery  fingers  to  respond 
to  the  rush  there  will  be  for  your  autograph." 

"Add  the  postcards  to  the  books,"  I  said, 
trying  to  be  equally  amiable,  "  and  Abigail  will 
gladly  run  the  jumble  corner ;  she  will  be  smarter 
at  it  than  you  or  I." 

Abigail  appeared  as  soon  as  her  ladyship  had 
gone.  The  farmeress  who  supplied  us  with  milk 
was  waiting  in  the  kitchen  to  know  if  I  wanted 
extra  milk  morning  and  evening  in  future,  on 
account  of  company ;  as,  if  so,  she  would  save  it 
specially.  She  was  experiencing  a  shortage  of 
milk,  "  Hussy  "  having  run  dry,  and  "  Clover," 
for  some  unknown  reason  that  I  hadn't  time  to 
listen  to,  not  doing  her  lactic  duty  as  befitted 
her  station  in  life. 

Emphatically  I  said  that  I  should  not  want 
any  extra  milk — and  a  few  other  things. 

I  resumed  my  work. 

Ten  minutes  later  there  was  yet  another 
interruption.  This  time  it  was  the  owner  of  the 
Buff  Orpingtons,  who  had  arrived  at  the  back 
door  to  inquire  if  I  was  wanting  any  eggs — she'd 

151  h 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

brought  eight  with  her,  and  expected  another 
one  to-night,  which  she'd  send  up — her  hens  had 
just  started  laying  again,  etc. 

I  fairly  blessed  the  individual  who  had  first 
set  going  the  fable  that  I  was  expecting  visitors. 

I  told  Abigail  that  it  was  a  matter  of  perfect 
indifference  to  me  whether  all  the  fowls  in  the 
district  did,  or  did  not,  accommodatingly  lay 
nine,  or  even  ten,  eggs  for  my  especial  benefit ; 
but  what  did  matter  to  me  was  whether  I  could, 
or  could  not,  get  nine  or  even  ten  minutes  of 
uninterrupted  peace,  in  order  to  finish  my  letters 
before  the  postman  arrived.  (He  always  calls 
obligingly  at  five  o'clock  for  my  afternoon  mail.) 
And  I  requested  that  she  would  kindly  take  in 
any  and  everything  that  came  during  the  next 
hour  (so  long  as  it  didn't  need  paying  for !) ; 
only,  for  pity's  sake,  would  she  cease  opening 
that  door  and  seeking  advice  on  the  subject. 

After  that  I  was  left  severely  alone.  From 
time  to  time  I  heard  voices  in  the  rear ;  there 
was  one  very  loud  series  of  bumps  and  bangs — 
I  concluded  it  was  the  missionary  report  being 
introduced  to  the  table.  But  I  worked  on,  and 
had  just  sealed  up  my  last  budget  of  proofs,  and 
addressed  it  to  the  printers,  when  the  postman 
appeared.  I  heaved  a  sigh  at  the  amount  of 
stuff  he  carried  away.  The  shower  had  passed 
over  without  even  damping  the  blossoms.  I 
would  have  some  tea,  and  then  start  watering. 

152 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

The  postman  was  speaking  to  someone  at  the 
gate.  No,  it  wasn't  Abigail.  I  heard  him  say, 
"  Yes ;  this  is  Rosemary  Cottage."  I  was 
gathering  up  my  papers  as  footsteps  dragged 
themselves  along  the  path — "  dragged  "  is  the 
only  word  for  it — and  before  I  had  time  to  step 
outside  to  see  who  was  there,  two  female  forms, 
one  ample  and  one  spare,  made  for  the  door 
opening  into  the  hving-room,  precipitated  them- 
selves into  the  room,  and  sank  into  the  nearest 
chairs,  in  the  last  stages  of  panting  exhaustion ; 
while  the  ample  one,  in  a  coat  and  skirt  of  a 
large  black  and  white  plaid,  buttoned  and  piped 
with  cerise,  exclaimed — 

"  At  last  I  Well,  of  all  the  out-of-the-way 
forsaken  places  I  We've  been  tramping  nearly 
all  day,  trying  to  get  here  from  that  wretched 
station  1  We  must  have  walked  miles — miles — 
up  and  down  hill,  only  it  was  all  uphill ;  we 
found  ourselves  in  woods  with  no  possibility  of 
ever  getting  out  again ;  we  got  into  lanes  that 
ended  nowhere,  and  when  we  got  there  it  was 
the  wrong  place ;  we  tried  to  take  a  short  cut 
across  some  fields,  and  got  stuck  in  a  bog ;  we 
met  a  flock  of  wild  cows,  and  the  top  of  that 
hedge  positively  ran  into  me  Hke  needles.  When 
we  did  chance  to  find  a  house,  hoping  it  was 
yours,  it  never  was  ;  the  people  always  told  us 
to  go  on  and  ask  further  directions  at  the  next 
house  we  came  to,  but  each  time  there  wasn't 

153  L  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

another  house.  Why  ever  didn't  we  take  that 
fly  at  the  station !  But  there,  he  could  never 
have  driven  us  over  all  the  huge  stone  walls 
we've  had  to  climb  I  We've  been  walking  for 
hours  on  end — hours — haven't  we,  dear  ? " 

"  Dear "  nodded  feebly.  She  was  leaning 
back  in  the  easy-chair  with  closed  eyes.  Her 
hat — of  a  remarkable  shape — was  trimmed  with 
what  looked  like  a  kitchen  flue-brush  standing 
straight  upright  at  the  back ;  at  least,  it  would 
have  been  upright  if  her  hat  hadn't  shifted 
askew ;  at  the  moment  the  flue-brush  was 
inclining  towards  her  left  ear.  Her  costume 
was  mustard  colour,  with  spasms  of  black.  She 
must  have  been  very  pleased  with  it  when  she 
bought  it,  otherwise  she  could  never  have  induced 
herself  to  get  inside  it ! 

I  soon  found  that  the  ample  one  did  not 
require  any  reply  other  than  the  feeble  nod,  as 
it  would  have  impeded  her  eloquence.  She 
went  on — 

"  I  think,  if  you  don't  mind,  we  won't  go 
upstairs  till  we've  had  some  tea.  We  are 
absolutely  prostrate,  aren't  we,  dear  ?  "  The 
flue-brush  dipped  slightly.  "  Could  we  have 
some  tea  at  once  ? " 

"  Certainly,"  I  said  with  alacrity.  I  had 
already  decided  that  tea  was  the  only  possible 
way  to  relieve  the  strain  of  the  situation,  and  I 
rang  the  bell. 

154 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly- 
Abigail,  after  one  comprehensive  glance  at 
the  callers,  fetched  my  very  best  afternoon  tea- 
cloth,  which  she  displayed  on  the  table  to  the 
utmost  advantage,  that  not  an  Irish  inlet  or  a 
bit  of  lace  border  should  be  lost  on  the  visitors. 
When  she  does  not  approve  of  any  callers,  or 
does  not  consider  them  quite  in  keeping  with 
the  family  traditions,  she  invariably  makes  a 
terrific  splash  in  front  of  them,  getting  out  the 
special  silver  and  the  finest  china,  and  serving 
with  an  air  of  withering  superiority,  as  though 
she  said,  "  Behold  I  this  is  how  we  live  every 
day  ;  very  diiFerent  from  what  youve  been  accus- 
tomed to ! " 

The  tiresomeness  of  it  is  that  when  intimate 
friends  call,  who  really  matter,  the  handmaiden 
treats  the  tea-table  most  casually ;  they  evidently 
don't  count  if  they  are  known  to  be  above 
reproach  I 

From  the  look  she  gave  the  strangers,  I  knew 
we  should  have  it  all,  and  we  did !  She  was 
wonderfully  quick  in  getting  both  the  tea  and 
her  smartest  cap  and  apron.  She  put  as  much 
silver  as  she  could  squeeze  on  the  table ;  she  got 
out  some  egg-shell  china  plates  for  the  bread  and 
butter,  and  the  old  cut-glass  for  the  preserves. 
She  opened  new  jars  of  plum,  black-currant, 
strawberry  and  raspberry  jam ;  she  turned  out 
preserved  ginger  into  a  blue  Chinese  bowl ;  she 
put  lemon-curd  into  a  quaint  brown  dish,  and 

155 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

honey  in  a  lustre  saucer.  She  hunted  out  all 
the  cake  we  possessed,  and  opened  a  tin  of 
apricots ;  she  mashed  up  sardines  with  Worcester 
sauce,  and  heaped  it  on  pale  lettuce  leaves,  and 
she  garnished  some  thin  slices  of  ham  most 
artistically  with  lemon  and  cucumber  and 
flowering  sprigs  of  rosemary.  All  this  while 
the  ample  one  was  explaining  to  me  how 
marvellously  things  were  managed  in  London, 
the  miles  you  could  ride  in  a  motor-bus  for 
twopence,  the  cleanliness  and  speed  and  safety 
of  the  Tube,  the  ever-recurring  convenience  of 
a  hal^enny  in  a  tramcar,  and  the  luxury  of  a 
taxi ;  and  then  more  moans  to  think  of  the  miles 
they  had  covered  without  meeting  either  motor- 
bus.  Tube,  tramcar  or  taxi. 

When  the  table  seemed  on  the  very  verge  of 
breaking  down  with  its  abundance,  and  they  had 
just  drawn  up  their  chairs,  Abigail  asked  in 
clear  tones  that  the  visitors  were  bound  to  hear, 
**  Would  you  wish  me  to  bring  in  the  cold  duck, 
madam  ? "  ("  Madam  "  indicates  company ; 
"ma'am"  is  ordinary  every-day.)  I  wasn't 
exactly  anxious  to  bestow  my  to-morrow's  dinner 
on  the  strangers,  for  I  had  reckoned  to  make  the 
duck  do  for  twice ;  but,  of  course,  under  the 
circumstances,  I  was  bound  to  ask  sweetly,  "  Oh, 
would  you  care  for  a  little  roast  duck  ?  It's 
cold,''  I  added,  by  way  of  disqualifying  the  joint 
a  little  in  their  eyes.     Fortunately  they  preferred 

156 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

ham,  but  it  was  satisfactory  that  at  least  they 
knew  we  had  roast  duck  in  the  larder. 

After  sitting  up  and  taking  a  little  nourish- 
ment, the  wilted  ones  revived  perceptibly,  and 
even  began  to  be  gracious.  I  am  afraid  I  am  not 
very  fond  of  the  graciousness  of  that  type  of 
woman ;  she  does  get  it  so  mixed  up  with 
patronage.  But  I  buoyed  myself  up  with  the 
thought  that  perchance  I  was  entertaining  angels 
unawares — though  they  didn't  look  Uke  it ! 

The  ample  one  continued  to  be  voluble.  I 
did  not  interrupt  her  with  questions,  because  I 
find  it  is  usually  as  well  to  let  a  situation  explain 
itself;  it  usually  does  in  time.  Besides,  I  didn't 
quite  know  what  to  say.  I  couldn't  exactly  ask, 
"  Who  are  you  ?  where  have  you  come  from  ? 
and  why  have  you  singled  me  out  for  this 
particular  visitation  ?  "  Yet  the  longer  I  waited, 
the  more  awkward  it  became  to  open  inquiries. 

"  You  have  a  very  well- trained  maid,  I  see," 
the  large  plaid  continued,  "that  is  to  say,  for 
the  country  " — with  emphasis,  to  show  me  that 
there  were  obvious  deficiencies,  only  she  was 
willing  to  make  allowances  for  them.  "  It's  the 
first  thing  I  always  notice  in  a  house.  We  are 
used  to  such  excellent  service — most  excellent 
service,  aren't  we,  dear  ?  " 

Dear  agreed,  but  not  very  heartily ;  she 
seemed  to  ponder  for  a  moment  before  she  said 
her  customary  "  Yes." 

157 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"That  is  one  reason  why  I  always  hesitate 
about  leaving  home."  (How  I  wished  she'd 
hesitated  a  little  longer !  The  sun  was  getting 
behind  the  fir-trees,  and  I  did  so  want  to  start 
watering  !)  "  You  have  some  garden,  I  see,  but 
it  wants  planning,  doesn't  it  ?  I  wish  you  could 
see  ours  at  home ;  it  would  give  you  some  ideas. 
We  have  a  man  in  occasionally ;  but  we  always 
superintend  him  ourselves.  I'll  tell  you  how  we 
have  it  arranged.  In  the  centre  is  a  square 
lawn,  and  in  the  middle  of  this  we  have  a  round 
bed  with  scarlet  geraniums  in  the  centre,  and  a 
ring  of  calceolarias  round  them,  and  then  outside 
that,  at  the  edge  of  the  bed,  you  understand,  all 
round,  you  know,  we  have  lobelias,  little  blue 
flowers,  you  know.  You've  no  idea  how  bright 
and  effective  it  is.  And  then  in  the  border 
all  round  the  garden  by  the  fences,  we  have 
standard  roses  about  a  couple  of  yards  apart, 
and  a  row  of  scarlet  geraniums.  It's  so  bright, 
and  doesn't  cost  so  much  when  you  buy  them  by 
the  dozen. 

"  Your  ceiling  is  very  low,  isn't  it  ? — still, 
for  a  cottage,  it  isn't  a  bad-sized  room ;  and  I 
see  you've  made  the  best  of  it  with  your  little 
bits  of  things  put  about."  I  do  wish  you  could 
have  heard  the  charming,  indulgent  condescen- 
sion with  which  she  said  "your  little  bits  of 
things  "  !  "  Though  I  don't  think  I've  ever  seen 
yellow  walls  before — very  quaint,  of  course,  but 

158 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

— er — rather  peculiar.      Don't    you    think    so, 
dear  ? " 

Dear  said  she  did.  But  I  don't  know  why, 
seeing  that  she  was  carrying  about  more  yellow 
on  her  mustard  person  than  I  had  in  the  whole 
of  the  house ! 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  our  lovely  dining-room 
at  home,"  the  plaid  continued.  I  murmured 
inarticulations,  as  there  was  a  pause  where  I 
was  evidently  intended  to  say  something.  "  It 
has  a  dark  red  paper  on  the  wall.  We  have  just 
furnished  it  with  fumed  oak.  I  think  fumed 
oak  is  so  artistic.  We  have  a  most  handsome 
sideboard  that  will  only  just  stand  across  one 
end  of  the  room.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that 
it  cost  fifty  pounds  originally,  but  as  the  people 
to  whom  it  belonged  were  a  Uttle  unfortunate, 
we  got  it — well,  we  didn't  give  quite  that  much 
for  it ;  but  you'd  never  know.  It  was  just  as 
good  as  new.  And  we  have  aspidistras  and  a 
beautiful  palm  in  copper  flower-pots — really 
exquisite  works  of  art  they  are ;  and  they  go  so 
well  with  the  fumed  oak,  don't  they,  dear  ? " 

By  the  time  I  had  been  taken  over  their 
beautiful  drawing-room,  we  had  finished  tea — 
happily,  for  I  already  saw  a  beautiful  best  bed- 
room suite  looming  ahead. 

Having  made  a  most  excellent,  not  to  say 
solid,  meal,  the  voluble  one  shoved  her  chair 
back  and  said — 

159 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  I  feel  all  the  better  for  that  cup  of  tea. 
Now,  I  think,  if  you'll  show  us  the  way,  we'll  go 
upstairs  and  have  a  good  wash,  and  make  our- 
selves presentable — not  that  you  dress  much  for 
dinner,  I  suppose  ?  " 

I  conclude  I,  too,  was  all  the  better  for  my 
cup  of  tea,  for  I  felt  myself  warming  to  the 
work — and  I  led  the  way  washstandwards  most 
cordially.  I  didn't  take  them  out  into  the  haU 
to  the  more  modern  staircase,  I  opened  the  door 
in  the  corner  of  the  room,  and  revealed  the  steep 
stone  stairs ;  and  you  should  have  heard  their 
gurgles  and  squeals. 

"  Oh,  dearest,  do  look.  Isnt  it  primitive  ? 
And  do  you  go  up  and  down  this  every  day  ? " 

"Oh,  no,"  I  couldn't  help  repljring.  "We 
only  use  this  when  visitors  are  here.  On 
ordinary  occasions  we  get  in  and  out  of  the  bed- 
room windows,  and  hop  down  the  honeysuckle." 

She  drew  herself  up  reprimandingly ;  she 
evidently  wished  me  to  understand  that,  though 
she  was  willing  to  treat  me  as  an  equal  so  long 
as  I  behaved  myself,  she  couldn't  allow  any 
undue  familiarity  on  my  part. 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  would  see  anything 
unusual  in  such  an  approach  to  the  upper  storeys, 
having  been  used  to  it  all  your  life,"  she  said 
distantly ;  "  but  accustomed  as  we  are  to  our 
magnificent  staircase  at  home — wide  enough  to 
drive  up  a  carriage  and  pair,  isn't  it,  dear  ?  " — 

i6o 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

"Er — nearly "      (Dear    was    the    more 

truthful  of  the  two,  I  fancy. ) 

"  — And  our  beautiful  pile  carpet,  in  rich  reds 
and  blues,  and  the  thickest  of  stair-pads  under- 
neath, till  you  would  think  you  were  walking 
on  real  Turkey  carpet,  this  naturally  strikes 
us  as — how  shall  I  put  it  so  as  not  to  hurt  your 
feelings  ? — as — as  very  humorous,  you  know  ! " 

"  I  quite  understand,"  I  said,  as  we  entered 
my  bedroom. 

She  walked  straight  over  to  the  window  and 
looked  out. 

"Not  a  house  to  be  seen  anywhere,"  she 
exclaimed  dismally,  "  whichever  way  you  look ; 
nothing  in  sight  but  those  everlasting  tree- 
covered  hills." 

As  she  seemed  inclined  for  a  lengthy  soliloquy, 
I  poured  out  some  water  and  indicated  the  soap- 
dish,  as  politely  as  I  knew  how,  to  Dear,  who 
had  taken  off  her  hat  and  coat,  and  seemed 
almost  grateful  for  my  attentions.  I  noticed 
that  Abigail  had  been  up  and  had  adorned  the 
towel-horse  with  my  finest  damask  towels  with 
embroidered  ends,  and  had  got  out  a  rare  and 
treasured  bedspread  made  entirely  of  lace,  that 
had  just  been  sent  me  as  a  present  from  Venice, 
and  had  put  it  over  the  bed  in  place  of  the  old- 
world  patchwork  quilt  that  I  infinitely  prefer  in 
the  cottage ;  it  was  so  much  more  in  keeping 
with  the  surroundings. 

i6i 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

The  ample  one  turned  with  a  sigh  from  the 
depressing  outlook  that  was  so  deficient  in  motor- 
buses  and  halfpenny  car  rides  and  taxis  and 
houses,  and  said,  evidently  striving  to  make  the 
best  of  a  bad  job,  "At  any  rate  you've  tried  to 
make  it  look  as  nice  as  you  can  inside.  Do  you 
know,  I  rather  like  that  bedspread  " — as  though 
conveying  a  real  favour  on  the  article  in  question. 
"  It  reminds  me  of  an  exquisite  bedspread  we 
have  at  home  something  like  it,  only  ours  is 
linen,  with  shamrocks  on  it  in  soHd  embroidery." 
And  she  flung  down  her  coat  and  other  impedi- 
menta on  the  top  of  the  lace  in  a  way  that  made 
me  tremble  for  its  safety.  "  It's  something  like 
ours — don't  you  think  so,  dear  ? " 

Dear  had  her  face  in  the  soft  delicious  lather 
of  the  rainwater,  and  didn't  reply. 

"  But " — at  this  point  transformation  came 
over  the  black  and  white  plaid — "  I've  only  just 
noticed  it  I  This  is  a  double  bed  I  Look,  dear, 
it's  a  DOUBLE  bed !  And  I  most  distinctly  said 
in  my  letter  it  was  imperative  that  we  have  two 
single  beds ;  the  same  room  would  do,  I  said — 
no  need  to  go  to  the  expense  of  two  rooms — but 
on  no  account  a  double  bed.  As  I  can't  possibly 
rest  unless  I  have  the  bed  to  myself — I'm  a  very 
light  sleeper,  whereas  my  friend  sleeps  rather 
heavily,  not  to  say — er — sonorously,  don't  you, 
dear  ? — I  must  simply  insist  that  you  have  this 
bed  taken  down  and  two  single  ones  put  up  in  its 

162 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

place.  Had  I  seen  the  rooms  before  I  engaged 
them  I  shouldn't  have  taken  a  place  with  such  a 
desolate  outlook ;  but  as  we've  had  the  expense 
of  coming  here,  I  don't  mind  staying  if  you 
undertake  to  have  the  beds  changed ;  and  they 
must  both  be  feather  beds,  too.  Now,  can  you 
do  this  ? " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't ! "  I  said.     "  But  if " 

"  There  can  be  no  ifs ;  I  put  everything 
quite  clearly  in  my  letter.  I've  got  a  copy  of  it 
here.     I  wrote " 

"  My  dear  lady,  if  you  will  sit  down  in  that 
easy-chair,  we'll  make  everything  still  clearer." 
She  was  beginning  to  prance  around  the  room. 

Dear,  unmoved,  was  having  a  very  thorough 
wash.  So  the  light  sleeper  sank  into  the  chair 
and  rummaged  in  her  hand-bag,  presumably  for 
the  copy  of  the  letter  in  question. 

I  tried  to  speak  as  lightly  and  soothingly  as 
possible,  for  she  was  fairly  bursting  with  indig- 
nation !  "  Now,  please  understand  that  I  am 
delighted  to  give  a  meal  to  any  wayfarer  who, 
like  yourself,  arrives  hungry  and  tired  at  my 
door.  I'm  glad  for  them  to  come  in  and  have  a 
rest,  and  even  a  wash  and  brush  up,  if  they  want 
it.  But,  when  an  absolute  stranger,  of  whom  I 
know  nothing,  demands  my  own  bed,  and  my 
feather  bed  into  the  bargain,  then  I  must  protest  1 
That  feather  bed  is  one  of  my  most  cherished 
possessions ! " 

163 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  But  you  expected  me  ? " — sitting  bolt 
upright. 

"  I  certainly  did  not ! " 

"  Didn't  I  write  and  tell  you  we  would  arrive 
to-day  ?  " 

"  I've  neither  heard  of  you,  nor  from  you,  in 
my  life  before  I " 

"  But  this  is  Rosemary  Cottage  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

"  Then  you  must  be  Miss  Flabbers  I " — with 
an  air  of  finality. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  not  I " 

At  this,  Dear  dropped  the  soap  with  a  sudden 
splosh  into  the  water  and  looked  round  in  frozen 
astonishment.  (The  merest  wraith  of  it  remained 
two  hours  later  when  Abigail  emptied  the  water. 
It  was  a  new  cake,  too  I) 

At  the  name  of  Flabbers,  Hght  came. 
Miss  Flabbers  is  a  gentlewoman  in  somewhat 
reduced  circumstances,  who  lives  in  a  cottage  a 
good  mile  and  a  half  away.  Presumably  she 
was  going  to  add  to  her  income  by  taking  in 
boarders. 

*'  If  it's  Miss  Flabbers  whom  you  are  wanting," 
I  continued,  fiUing  up  a  painful  silence,  "her 
house  is  called  Rose  May  Cottage.  I  expect 
you  got  the  names  confused  in  your  mind." 

"  There  !  It's  all  your  fault,"  said  the  ample 
one,  turning  irritably  to  her  companion ;  "  you 
said  it  was  Rose  May  Cottage  when  you  read 

164 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

the  first  letter:  but  T  said  that  was  an  absurd 
name,  and  it  must  be  Rosemary  it  was  intended 
for — country  people  do  write  so  badly.  I  do 
wish,  dear,  you  would  be  careful  to  be  more 
accurate  ;  if  only  you  had  said  the  right  name  I 
might  have  been  saved  all  this  trouble — and 
expense,  because  of  course  I  shall  insist  on 
paying  for  our  tea — ^ — "  (she  didn't  though  I) 
"and  think  how  many  miles  I've  walked,  and 
now  I  suppose  I've  to  do  it  all  again.  How  I 
wish  I'd  hstened  to  that  old  man  at  the  station 
and  gone  with " 

She  paused  suddenly  and  threw  up  her  hands ; 
and  then  there  arose  that  cry  common  to  all 
womankind  the  world  over,  when  they  are  weary 
with  their  pilgrimage,  footsore  and  travel-stained ; 
the  cry  that  must  have  rent  the  air  in  the  olden 
days  when  Sarai  trailed  after  Abram  across  the 
plains  of  Mamre,  even  as  it  sounds  to-day  from 
Yokohama  to  Land's  End  : 

"  Whereas  our  luggage  f  " 

There  was  a  perceptible  gasp — and  then, 
"  Yes  ;  where' s  our  luggage  ?  "  faintly  echoed 
Dear,  as  she  nervously  clutched  her  gloves  with 
feverish  haste  and  pinned  them  on  her  head, 
and  then  wildly  tried  to  get  her  arms  into  her 
hat. 

"  I  expect  it's  reposing  peacefully  in  Miss 
Flabbers'  best  bedroom,"  I  said  assuringly.  "  At 
any  rate  it  isn't  here  I "  as  I  saw  signs  that  they 

165 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

were  going  to  crawl  under  the  bed  in  search  of 
it.  "  The  man  would  be  sure  to  deliver  it  there, 
and " 

Abigail  knocked  at  the  door  and  asked  if  she 
could  speak  to  me  for  a  minute. 

When  I  got  outside  she  said,  "There's  a 
person  downstairs  wants  to  see  you  particular, 
ma'am,  or  I  wouldn't  have  disturbed  you." 
Abigail  divides  all  her  sex  into  two  classes, 
"persons"  and  "ladies,"  and  no  one  is  more 
careful  than  she  to  see  that  "  persons "  don't 
think  more  highly  of  themselves  than  their  social 
status  warrants. 

I  found  a  pleasant-faced  woman  who  lives  in 
a  cottage  near  Miss  Flabbers.  "  Please,  ma'am, 
Miss  Flabbers  has  lost  two  ladies  rather  suddint, 
and  I  wondered  if  you'd  chanced  to  set  eyes  on 
'em  ?  Miss  Flabbers  is  that  worrit  as  never  was  ; 
expected  'em  by  the  eleven  train,  and  I  misdoubt 
me  if  the  cutlets  won't  be  a  bit  heavy  by  now, 
though  she's  had  'em  over  a  saucepan  of  hot 
water  ever  since.  She's  so  upset  she  don't  know 
what  to  do,  yet  she  can't  go  out  to  look  for  'em 
in  case  they  turns  up  meanwhile.  I  thought  it 
'ud  be  just  neighbourly  if  I  went  out  for  her  and 
hunted  around.  1  know  they  come  by  that 
train,  for  I  see'd  'em  myself  at  the  station, 
puifeck  ladies  you'd  have  took  'em  for,  only  they 
wouldn't  have  a  fly.  They're  not  friends,  no, 
nor  boarders,  no,  she  wouldn't  think  of  having 

i66 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly 

boarders,  so  reserved  as  she  is ;  they're  what's 
called  paying  guests.  I  know,  because  my  son's 
got  a  friend  in  the  Hargus  office,  and  he  told 
him  about  an  adver-^isement  she  put  in,  only 
you  wouldn't  have  known  it  was  her,  being  only 
X  Y  Z  on  it,  but  the  people  at  the  Hargus  knew 
as  the  X  Y  Z  meant  her,  though  how  they 
should  know  puzzles  me,  and  they  send  on  the 
letters  to  her.  But  she's  kep'  it  very  private; 
no  one  knew  they  was  coming,  so  I  wouldn't 
dream  of  mentioning  X  Y  Z  to  a  soul.  I've 
tracked  'em  up  here.  Everybody  all  over  the 
Common  and  even  up  to  the  Crag  Farm  has 
a-seed  them,  they've  scoured  the  county  for 
miles  round.  You'd  be  sure  to  rekernize  them 
once  you'd  saw  them " 

I  should  think  so  I  E'en  the  slight  hare- 
bell raised  its  head  and  stared  after  them 
whenever  they  passed  it  that  afternoon,  I'm 
certain. 

By  dint  ot  shouting  above  her  talking  I 
managed  to  get  her  to  hear  that  I  had  them  safe 
and  sound  ;  and  should  be  everlastingly  grateful 
if  she  would  take  them  off  my  hands  and  place 
them  in  the  safe  keeping  of  Miss  Flabbers. 

Then  I  fetched  them  down  and  introduced 
the  neighbourly  soul,  who,  you  could  see,  felt 
elated  at  the  distinction  of  being  the  one  to  take 
such  costumes  in  tow. 

"  Better  go  out  of  the  back  door,"  I  said, 

167  M 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  and  up  the  garden  to  the  top  gate ;  it  will  save 
you  a  few  steps." 

And  then  the  ample  one  turned  and  said  icily, 
"  I  suppose  we  must  thank  you  for  what  you 
have  done  ;  but  I  do  think  you  should  have  told 
us  sooner  who  you  were."  Yet  I  hadn't  told 
them  even  then ! 

It  was  as  they  were  going  out  of  the  back 
door  that  Dear  amazed  us  by  falling  unexpectedly 
to  her  knees  and  affectionately  clasping  a  dark 
object  that  I  had  not  seen  in  the  dim  recess  of 
the  lobby. 

"  Here's  our  trunks  ! "  she  shrieked  hysteri- 
cally. 

And  then  both  those  women  glared  things 
unspeakable  at  me.  They  knew  now,  what  they 
had  only  suspected  before,  that  I  was  a  deeply- 
dyed  villainess  with  designs  on  them  and  their 
property. 

"  What's  this  ?  Why  wasn't  I  told  about 
it  ?  "  I  inquired  of  Abigail,  who,  naturally,  was 
not  missing  a  word. 

"  Old  Bob  brought  them  while  you  were 
busy.  He  said  they  were  for  here,  so  of  course 
I  took  them  in,  madam,  as  you  said  you  were 
not  to  be  disturbed,"  with  an  injured  sniff",  "  and 
I've  had  no  opportunity  to  tell  you  since." 

The  two,  true  to  the  instincts  of  their  sex,  had 
promptly  seated  themselves  on  the  trunks,  and  I 

i68 


Just  Being 
Neighbourly- 
feared  they  had  no  intention  of  budging  unless 
the  trunks  went  with  them.  But  the  neigh- 
bourly person  was  anxious  to  be  on  the  move ; 
she  wanted  the  kudos  of  walking  through  the 
village  with  them  in  the  broad  daylight,  so  she 
said — 

"  They'll  be  all  right ;  my  'usband'll  come 
round  for  them  soon  as  we  get  back.  Now 
don't  you  worrit  the  least  Uttle  bit." 

Thus  they  were  got  off  at  last. 

"  Puffeck  ladies,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  seized 
the  brown  pitcher  and  the  water-can,  and  went 
out  to  the  spring. 


169  M  2 


VIII 

Merely  to  be  Prepared 

I  couldn't  have  been  asleep  many  minutes 
(though,  when  I  come  to  think  of  it,  no  one 
ever  is,  in  London),  because  I  had  waited  up 
till  eleven  for  Abigail. 

It  was  like  this :  the  day  before,  cook  had 
asked  me  if  she  might  stay  out  till  eleven  that 
night,  as  she  wanted  to  go  and  see  an  old  lady 
in  whose  employ  she  had  once  been.  The  old 
lady  was  seriously  ill;  she  couldn't  get  her  off 
her  mind ;  and  she  felt  she  ought  to  give  her 
what  Httle  pleasure  she  could,  as  she  wouldn't 
be  likely  to  get  over  it. 

I  begged  her  to  take  the  whole  afternoon ; 
such  affection  was  really  touching.  I  saw  myself 
in  a  few  years'  time,  decrepit,  aged,  and  infirm, 
being  visited  by  a  crowd  of  devoted  retainers, 
who  murmured  one  to  another : 

"  She  had  her  faults,  goodness  knows,  but 
at  least  we  will  scatter  seeds  of  kindness  !  " 

In  any  case,  I  was  pleased  for  cook  to  take 
some  extra  time,  as  she  is  invariably  home  early 
— the  Naval  Division  at  the  Crystal  Palace  have 
to  be  under  glass  by  nine  o'clock. 

She  thanked  me,  but  declined  the  afternoon, 
as  she  thought  half-past  nine  or  ten  in  the  even- 
ing would  suit  the  old  lady  best ;  she  was  in  a 
West  End  nursing  home.     It  seemed  late  to 

170 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

visit  one  who  was  so  aged  and  so  ill,  but,  of 
course,  I  gave  the  extended  leave. 

She  returned  at  10.55,  looking  very  bright,  a 
bunch  of  roses  in  her  coat-belt,  a  box  of  choco- 
lates danghng  from  her  finger,  and  a  programme 
in  her  hand. 

Yes,  thank  you ;  she  had  had  a  lovely  time. 
The  old  lady  ? — er — oh,  yes  !  she  was  getting  on 
nicely,  thank  you. 

Next  day,  Abigail  came  to  me,  also  asking 
for  an  eleven  o'clock  leave.  It  transpired  that 
she  was  expecting  a  little  orphan  cousin  to  arrive 
that  night  from  Blackpool ;  such  a  sad  affair — 
child  left  without  a  father  when  it  was  only  four 
years  old — she  was  eight  now.  No,  she  hadn't 
ever  seen  the  Httle  cousin,  but  she  felt  it  was 
such  a  distressing  case  that  it  was  her  duty  to 
do  what  she  could. 

I  hinted  that  eleven  o'clock  at  night  seemed 
rather  late  for  one  who  was  so  young  and  so 
orphaned  to  be  up  and  about,  and  Ukewise 
offered  her  the  afternoon.  But  she  said  the 
train  didn't  arrive  sooner,  and  the  trains  were 
often  late.  So  I  gave  her  till  11.0  p.m.  to 
welcome  the  pitiful  orphan. 

She  also  arrived  in  at  night  looking  radiant. 
Under  her  mackintosh  she  was  wearing  a  pink 
chiffon  dress,  edged  with  swansdown  ;  a  bandeau 
of  sparkles  was  on  her  hair,  a  horseshoe  of  the 

171 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

same  make  adorning  the  back  of  her  head ;  she 
carried  a  fan,  and  some  flowers  that  had  evidently 
been  worn  on  the  dress. 

I  am  glad  to  say  that  she,  too,  had  enjoyed 
herself  immensely,  and  the  desolate  relative  had 
been  most  pleased  to  make  her  acquaintance. 

After  that  I  retired. 

And  then  I  conclude  it  was  the  bang  that  did 
it ;  at  any  rate,  the  whole  household  woke  with 
a  start,  and  with  one  accord  the  feminine  portion 
precipitated  itself  downstairs  and  on  to  the  front 
door  mat,  and  peered  out  into  the  dark  road  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  something ! 

The  masculine  element,  being  gifted  with  a 
faculty  for  keeping  cool,  calm  and  collected  in 
any  emergency,  stayed  to  gather  up  a  few  wraps 
and  rugs  and  overcoats  and  anything  else  he 
could  lay  his  hands  on  in  the  dark  (including  his 
disreputable  old  gardening  jacket),  which  he 
brought  down  and  distributed  among  us,  as  we 
had  not  stopped  for  much  in  the  way  of  clothing. 

At  that  moment  Virginia  and  Ursula  rushed 
along  the  road  from  their  own  house  and  joined 
us.  Virginia  was  clad  in  a  nightdress,  with  a 
mackintosh  over  it  and  a  sumptuous  pale  blue 
kimono  (covered  with  brown  and  black  flying 
herons)  on  the  top  of  the  mac.  Ursula  was 
wearing  her  heliotrope  dressing-gown,  an  ostrich 
feather  boa,  and  an  eiderdown  quilt. 

172 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

They  both  apologised  for  caUing  so  late 
(it  was  past  midnight),  but  said  they  felt  they 
should  just  Hke  to  talk  things  over. 

While  I  was  bidding  them  welome,  Miss 
Quirker  (from  round  the  corner)  appeared ;  Uke- 
wise  Miss  Thresher  (a  secondary-school  mistress) 
and  her  friend  Mrs.  Brash,  who  share  a  flat  near 
by ;  and  in  the  rear  came  Mrs.  Ridley,  the 
doctor's  widow  from  across  the  road. 

They  all  said  they  had  come  because  they 
could  see  "it"  better  from  my  house,  which 
stands  on  a  high  point,  overlooking  London  one 
way,  and  Kent  from  the  other  side. 

Each  caller  was  grateful  for  the  loan  of  a 
blanket. 

Meanwhile,  in  far  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
write  all  this,  fire-engines  and  ambulances,  and 
poUcemen  and  motor-cars  and  pedestrians 
appeared  as  by  magic  from  nowhere  and  went 
tearing  along  the  road.  Yet,  crane  our  necks  as 
we  would,  not  a  gUmpse  could  we  catch  of  "  it." 

Miss  Quirker — who  always  seems  to  have 
special  and  exclusive  information  about  every- 
thing— said  the  creature  was  exactly  over  her 
bedroom  chimney  when  the  bomb  was  dropped  ; 
she  heard  a  strange  whirring  noise  (described 
most  graphically),  and  turned  on  the  electric 
light  for  company ;  then  there  was  a  brilliant 
flash  in  the  sky  (yes,  she  could  see  it  above  the 
electric  light),  and  the  bomb  fell — she  was  sure 

173 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

it  was  in  her  back  garden.  She  looked  very 
pleased  with  herself  and  superior,  to  think  that 
she  had  been  singled  out  by  Fate  for  this  special 
and  distinctive  visitation. 

The  man  of  the  house,  after  bidding  us  stay 
just  where  we  were  as  he  wouldn't  be  gone  a 
minute,  hied  him  buoyantly  down  the  road  in 
company  with  neighbouring  mascuUnes — to  find 
the  bomb,  I  suppose.  He  soon  returned,  how- 
ever, with  the  exceedingly  flat  information  that 
a  gas  explosion  had  occurred  in  a  house  further 
along,  though  they  couldn't  tell  whether  it  was 
due  to  the  geyser  or  the  cooking-range,  as  they 
couldn't  find  either. 

[Later  on,  the  remains  of  a  geyser  and  part 
of  a  porcelain  bath  were  picked  up  about  six 
miles  off,  in  the  Walworth  Road ;  and  I  under- 
stand that  the  police  at  Sevenoaks  found  the 
remnants  of  an  ahen  gas-stove  wandering  about 
in  a  suspicious  manner,  and  promptly  interned 
it.     But  this  is  by  the  way.] 

"  Only  a  gas  explosion  I "  exclaimed  everybody 
in  doleful  disappointment.  Mrs.  Brash  certainly 
looked  reheved  ;  but  then  she  is  a  very  nervous 
little  woman  with  a  weak  heart. 

"  Well,  I  call  it  too  bad  ! "  said  Virginia. 
"  Every  solitary  relative,  friend,  and  acquaintance 
I  possess,  even  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation, 
has  had  a  Zepp  cross  '  right  over  their  very  road  ' ; 
and  every  person  I've  met  during  the  last  twelve 

,174 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

months  boasts  and  brags  of  the  way  they've  had 
them  'exactly  above  their  heads.'  And  yet,  do 
what  I  will,  I  can't  get  a  sight  of  even  the  tail 
of  one." 

"  Just  my  case,"  said  everybody  else  in  chorus  ; 
"  I  seem  to  be  the  only  one  in  London  who 
hasn't  seen  one." 

But  Miss  Thresher  cut  short  our  bemoanings 
over  the  hardness  of  our  lot,  by  saying  in  her 
head-mistress  voice — 

"I'm  afraid  an  excess  of  untutored  imagina- 
tion is  one  of  the  weaknesses  of  this  age.  We, 
however,  can  console  ourselves  with  the  know- 
ledge that  at  least  we  are  truthful;  and  truth, 
after  all,  is  the  greater  asset  " — looking  wither- 
ingly  at  Miss  Quirker. 

I  repUed,  "  How  about  some  hot  coffee  ? " 
It  was  the  most  appropriate  remark  that  I  could 
think  of  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

Cook  promptly  offered  to  get  it,  while  I  went 
after  tea-gowns  and  dressing-gowns  and  similar 
symbols  of  propriety  for  our  shivering  guests, 
who  looked  a  trifle  nondescript  now  that  the 
lights  were  on.  The  man  of  the  house  had 
returned  to  assist  at  the  explosion. 

If  Miss  Thresher  hoped  that  her  last  remark 
would  quelch  Miss  Quirker,  she  was  mistaken 
nothing  can  suppress  that  lady,  and  nothing  is 
sacred  to  her.     She  will  stalk  up  to  your  secret 
cupboard,  no  matter  how  boldly  you  may  have 

175 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

labelled  it  "  strictly  private,"  and  drag  out  into 
broad  daylight  the  most  disreputable  skeleton 
you  keep  in  it,  the  one  you  packed  away  at  the 
very  back  of  the  top  shelf — and  then  be  pained 
at  your  ingratitude ! 

As  I  entered  the  room  with  an  armful  of 
apparel  I  heard  her  saying  to  Miss  Thresher, 
"  Why  don't  you  put  a  flounce  on  the  bottom  ? 
Those  cheap  flannelettes  always  shrink  in  the 
wash.  .  .  .  Oh,  flannel  is  it  ?  .  .  .  Really  !  no 
one  would  ever  think  you  gave  that  much  for  it, 
would  they  ?  At  any  rate  I  couldn't  sleep  if  I 
didn't  have  them  right  down  around  my  feet." 

To  change  the  subject  I  asked  Virginia  why 
she  had  put  her  mac.  on  under  her  kimono,  when 
obviously  the  correct  order  would  have  been  to 
wear  it  outside. 

She  said  she  concluded  it  was  sheer  genius 
and  originality  made  her  do  it,  for  she  had  never 
worn  such  a  combination  in  her  life  before  ;  and 
the  same  must  have  applied  to  Ursula,  for,  look- 
ing back  on  a  varied  and  chequered  career,  she 
could  never  remember  seeing  her  sister,  even 
once,  promenading  the  highway  in  an  eiderdown 
before. 

At  the  same  time,  she  inquired  why  it  was 
that  /  had  stood  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  on  that 
doormat,  clasping  feverishly  to  my  chest  a  pair 
of  satin  slippers  and  a  bath  towel,  and  clinging 

176 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

pathetically  to  a  bedroom  candlestick;  when 
obviously  any  candle  would  have  blown  out  had 
I  attempted  to  light  it,  and  the  bedroom  slippers 
would  have  been  more  usefully  employed  on  my 
shoeless  feet ;  while  as  for  the  bath  towel.  .  .  . ! 

The  coffee  came  at  that  moment.  I  re- 
membered that  some  time  ago  the  kitchen  had 
been  very  interested  in  an  article  in  one  of  the 
dailies,  giving  various  directions  as  to  what 
should  be  done  in  the  case  of  bombs  overhead. 
I  forget  a  good  deal  of  it,  but  I  remember  you 
had  to  lay  mattresses  all  over  the  top  floors  before 
you  came  downstairs,  and  you  had  to  dip  a  cloth 
in  hyposulphate  of  something,  and  hold  it  to 
your  nose  as  you  came  down  to  seek  a  place  of 
safety. 

The  servants  were  rather  taken  with  the 
mattress  idea,  said  how  simple  it  was,  and  that, 
as  they  had  five  mattresses  between  them,  they 
would  cover  a  good  deal  of  floor  space.  I  even 
generously  offered  them  the  two  off*  my  own  bed, 
if  they  would  come  down  and  fetch  them  as  soon 
as  the  Zepps  were  heard,  so  long  as  they  under- 
took to  place  them  carefully  above  my  head. 

When  Abigail  brought  in  the  trays,  I  asked 
how  many  mattresses  she  had  laid  down. 

"  1  never  gave  'em  a  thought,"  she  owned  up  ; 
"  my  two  legs  seemed  aU  that  mattered,  for  I  was 
sure  I  saw  the  Zeppelin-thing  looking  straight 
in  at  my  bedroom  window — such  sauce  !  " 

177 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

"  Untutored  imagination  again  ! "  murmured 
Ursula  in  my  ear. 

Nervous  little  Mrs.  Brash  said  that  was  just 
the  difficulty ;  when  it  actually  came  to  the  point 
you  could  think  of  nothing  that  you  ought  to 
remember.  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  talk  the 
subject  over  and  decide  a  few  things — merely 
to  be  prepared — now  that  there  was  a  group  of 
us  together. 

Miss  Thresher,  who  loves  the  importance  of 
being  in  any  sort  of  office,  enthused  over  the 
idea ;  said  we  had  better  have  a  committee 
meeting  there  and  then  ;  to  be  forewarned  was 
to  be  forearmed,  she  told  us,  with  an  impressive 
air  of  wisdom.  She  said  she  would  be  Minute 
Secretary,  and  we  must  draw  up  schedules 
stating  definitely  and  clearly  what  a  woman 
ought  to  do,  first  by  way  of  preparation 
beforehand,  and  secondly  when  the  crisis  actually 
arrived. 

Miss  Quirker  endorsed  this,  and  remarked  in 
an  aggrieved  tone  (in  my  direction)  that  she 
should  have  thought  the  women's  papers  would 
have  dealt  comprehensively  with  so  important  a 
subject  long  ago.  She  added,  however,  that  she 
thought  "  crisis  "  was  far  too  respectable  a  name 
to  give  them  ;  had  she  not  been  a  staunch  Church- 
woman,  she  would  have  called  them  something 
far  more  vividly  appropriate.  I  didn't  hear  the 
end  of  this,  because  I  slipped  away  to  find  the 

178 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

man  of  the  house,  as  1  had  heard  him  return 
indoors. 

Opening  the  study  door,  my  eyes  fell  on  such 
an  upheaval  that  for  the  moment  I  felt  certain 
a  gas  explosion  must  have  been  at  work  there. 
But  no  !  He  explained  (turning  out  yet  another 
drawer)  that  he  was  only  looking  for  some 
insurance  policies,  as  he  wasn't  quite  certain 
what  was  the  attitude  of  the  companies  towards 
geysers.  I  pointed  out  that  it  didn't  matter  as 
we  hadn't  one ;  but  he  went  on  looking,  and  his 
face  wore  that  tense  expression  seen  on  most 
men  when  hunting  for  the  family  screwdriver, 
or  the  pair  of  black  gloves  kept  for  funerals. 
Having  found  the  policies  at  last  (in  the  drawer 
where  they  had  always  been  kept,  by  the  way), 
I  left  him  in  peace,  to  peruse  them  at  his  leisure. 

The  Ladies'  Committee  was  well  under  way 
when  I  returned  to  the  dining-room,  and  as  is 
the  correct  thing  at  such  gatherings,  everybody 
was  talking  at  once  and  on  the  most  diverse 
topics.  I  consider  myself  rather  great  on  ladies' 
committees ;  I've  even  occupied  the  proud 
position  of  being  in  the  chair,  on  occasion.  And 
the  more  I  see  of  them  the  more  I  am  lost  in 
admiration  of  the  courage,  versatiUty,  and  insup- 
pressibility  of  my  sex. 

Why,  there's  no  man  living  who  could  trail 
as   many   totally   irrelevant    topics    across    the 

179 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

agenda,  and  in  defiance  of  a  politely  pleading 
chairwoman  too,  as  can  the  littlest  and  frailest 
woman  at  any  ladies'  committee  you  like  to 
name. 

As  it  was,  the  only  one  who  seemed  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  Zeppelins  was  poor  Mrs.  Brash, 
who  was  explaining  to  Mrs.  Ridley — 

"  It  isn't  that  I  mind  dying  :  we  all  have  to 
die  soTiie  day  :  but  I  do  prefer  to  die  whole.''' 

Of  course  the  doctor's  widow  pooh-poohed 
this  as  nonsense,  and  asked  severely  what  would 
become  of  surgeons  if  everybody  felt  like  that  I 

Miss  Thresher  couldn't  find  a  suitable  heading 
for  her  schedule,  till  Ursula  suggested  "Anti- 
zeptics."  Mrs.  Ridley  thought  the  medical 
profession  might  not  approve  of  the  unprofessional 
use  of  the  word ;  but  it  was  accepted  by  the 
majority,  and  then  we  all  settled  down  whole- 
heartedly to  attack  the  problem  from  every 
point  of  view — which  included,  among  other 
things,  borax  as  a  preventive  for  moth.  Queen 
Mary's  graciousness,  a  comparison  of  the  respec- 
tive merits  of  local  butchers,  economising  on 
corsets,  and  the  War  Loan. 

Perhaps  you  can't  see  how  these  came  in, 
but  it  was  simple  enough.  Miss  Quicker  said 
that,  after  all,  explosions  that  you  thought  were 
Zeppelins  weren't  so  bad  if  they  enabled  you  to 
get  such  good  coffee  as  mine ;  and  might  she 
have  a  third  lump  of  sugar,  please  ?  it  was  such 

1 80 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

a  treat  to  get  a  really  sweet  cup  of  coffee  ;  she 
had  given  up  sugar  at  home  as  she  was  econo- 
mising on  it. 

Being  the  hostess,  I  couldn't  exactly  tell  her 
that  I,  too,  was  trying  to  economise  on  mine. 

From  the  high  price  of  sugar  we  naturally 
floated  on  to  the  ruinous  tendencies  of  butcher's 
meat,  and  Mrs.  Brash  explained  the  trouble  she 
had  with  her  butcher  because  he  wouldn't  send 
home  all  the  bones. 

Mrs.  Ridley  had  similar  harrowments  to 
relate  about  her  butcher,  but  his  vice  took  the 
form  of  sticking  to  the  trimmings  from  the  joints, 
which  she  was  sure  he  sold  at  a  good  price  for 
soap-making,  now  that  fat  was  so  scarce  and 
soap  likely  to  be  dear.  She  knew  it  because — 
as  she  reminded  us — she  was  the  treasurer  of  the 
"  Women's  League  for  Encouraging  the  Troops 
to  Wash,"  and  it  came  very  hard  on  their  funds. 
What  it  would  cost  them  for  the  cakes  of  soap 
they  were  going  to  send  out  no  one  would 
beheve  !  (No,  they  hadn't  sent  any  yet ;  but  of 
course  they  were  going  to,  when  they  got  enough 
members,  and,  by  the  way,  would  /join  ?) 

She  didn't  mind  a  fair  charge,  of  course  (we 
all  murmured  agreement).  War  was  war,  and 
we  must  expect  to  pay  something  extra  to  help 
the  King  keep  going;  he  had  his  family  to 
provide  for  like  any  other  man.  Neither  did  she 
grudge  one  solitary  penny  that  went  to  Lord 

i8i 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

Kitchener  (hearty  applause).  No,  indeed  I  But 
what  made  her  blood  boil  was  to  feel  that  she 
was  actually  washing  her  hands  with  her  own 
ribs — and  at  one-and-threepence-halfpenny  a 
pound,  too  1 

Virginia  suggested  she  should  try  a  rather 
less  heating  soap ;  but  she  was  drowned  by 
Miss  Thresher,  who  said  firmly,  "  Borax ;  that's 
what  you  ought  to  send  to  the  troops.  Not 
only  would  it  soften  the  water  for  them,  poor 
things — and  no  one  knows  better  than  I  do 
what  awfully  hard  stuff  that  German  water  is ; 
nearly  scraped  my  skin  off  when  I  went  up  the 
Rhine  two  years  ago — but  they  would  find  it  so 
useful  to  put  in  with  their  woollen  things  that 
we've  been  knitting  them,  to  keep  out  the 
moth." 

My  reminder  that  our  troops  were  not  as 
yet,  alas !  drawing  their  water  from  German 
cisterns  was  unnoticed  ;  for  the  mere  mention  of 
moth  produced  extraordinary  animation.  Was 
borax  good  ?  Weren't  they  a  perfect  nuisance  ? 
and  so  on.  I  said  I  always  put  it  in  with  my 
furs,  and  never  had  a  moth  near  them. 

"  I  wonder  if  that's  what  they  put  with 
Queen  Mary's  furs,"  said  Mrs.  Brash.  "  I  never 
saw  more  lovely  sables  than  those  she  had  on 
when  she  came  to  the  hospital  yesterday." 

Miss  Thresher  verified  this  last  statement, 
absolutely  superb  they  were,  and  Miss  Thresher 

182 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

had  a  right  to  speak,  for  the  Queen  had  bowed 
straight  at  her,  as  she  stood  on  the  kerb,  "  as 
near  to  her  as  I  am  to  you." 

Miss  Quirker  said  that  for  her  part  she  didn't 
think  there  was  another  woman  in  the  world  so 
gracious  as  Queen  Mary — except  of  course 
Queen  Alexandra.  She  would  bow  to  anyone 
she  saw,  no  matter  how  shabby  they  were. 

Mrs.  Brash  hurriedly  said  what  she  so 
much  admired  in  Queen  Alexandra  was  her 
figure. 

Miss  Quirker  continued,  "  Yes,  and  speaking 
of  corsets  I  want  to  tell  you  of  another  economy 
besides  doing  without  sugar  to  help  the  nation. 
You  should  buy  your  corsets  several  sizes  larger 
than  usual,  and  then  when  they  are  getting 
worn,  you  can  turn  them  upside  down  and  wear 
them  the  other  way  up.     It's  so  saving." 

Ursula  said  she  quite  believed  it,  because  she 
knew,  if  she  turned  her  long  corsets  upside  down, 
they  would  reach  high  enough  up  to  support  the 
military  collar  at  the  back  of  her  neck,  and  thus 
save  boning. 

I  felt  it  was  high  time  we  got  back  to 
"  Antizeptics,"  and  suggested  that  we  should 
put  something  in  the  first  column  of  the 
schedule,  which  was  headed :  "  Things  to  place 
in  readiness  beforehand." 

Mrs.  Brash  announced  that  she  wasn't  ever 
going  to  take  her  clothes  off  any  more  till  the 

183  N 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

war  was  over,  if  this  was  the  sort  of  goings-on 
we  were  to  expect. 

General  opinion,  however,  was  decidedly  in 
favour  of,  at  any  rate,  removing  the  outside 
frock,  simply  because  we  none  of  us  saw  any 
prospect  of  ever  being  able  to  afford  to  buy  a 
new  one. 

Then  we  all  said  what  we  thought  ought  to 
go  into  that  column.  WooUen  undies,  a  fur- 
lined  coat,  a  thick  dressing-gown,  a  raincoat,  a 
travelling  rug,  and  all  sorts  of  other  things,  were 
to  be  placed  close  to  the  bedside.  This  was  insisted 
upon  as  a  matter  of  the  greatest  importance ; 
otherwise,  in  the  dark,  we  should  never  find 
anything,  and  of  course  it  wouldn't  be  safe  to 
have  a  light. 

Miss  Thresher  and  Miss  Quirker  had  a  small 
sub-committee  on  the  subject  of  stockings — 
should  they  be  worn  all  night  in  bed  ?  Miss 
Thresher  said  obviously  it  was  the  only  sensible 
course.  Miss  Quirker  objected  that  she  should 
kick  hers  off  in  her  sleep  in  any  case,  hers  was 
such  a  delicate  skin  (as  a  child  people  had  always 
remarked  on  it),  though  probably  women  less 
sensitive  than  herself  might  be  able  to  endure 
them.  But  if  she  lost  hers  among  the  bedclothes 
she  would  never  find  them  in  the  dark. 

Eventually  they  compromised  by  agreeing  to 
safety-pin  a  pair  to  the  front  of  the  nightdress 
(as  they  fasten  your  handkerchief  to  you  in  the 

184 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

hospital),  so  that  at  least  they  would  know  where 
to  find  them  in  case  of  precipitate  flight. 

Meanwhile  the  question,  "  Should  hats  be 
worn  ? "  necessitated  Ursula  and  Mrs.  Brash 
going  into  another  sub-committee  on  the  lounge. 
Mrs.  Brash  favoured  a  shawl — preferably  white — 
being  draped  over  the  head ;  it  was  more  suited 
to  the  neglige  condition  of  the  hair.  This  led  her 
to  consult  Ursula  about  the  winter's  hat  she  was 
evolving.  She  had  had  an  exceedingly  good  white 
and  black  crinoline  hat  the  summer  before  last, 
and  the  winter  before  last  she  had  had  a  very 
lovely  violet  velvet  toque — the  rich  deep  colour 
favoured  by  Queen  Alexandra. 

Last  winter  she  had  taken  the  violet  velvet 
from  the  hat  of  the  winter  before,  and  put  it 
over  the  crinoline  hat  of  the  summer  before  (you 
can  follow  this,  I  hope  ?),  and  everybody  had 
admired  it.  Now  she  proposed  to  return  the 
violet  velvet  to  its  original  toque,  only  this  time 
she  would  smother  it  with  some  violets  she  had 
by  her,  and  she  had  a  really  beautiful  little  sable 
skin  which  she  proposed  to  put  round  the  brim. 
Did  Miss  Ursula  think  the  violets  and  the  fur 
would  combine  well  ? 

Ursula  said  she  herself  didn't  care  for  fur 
and  flowers  in  combination,  because  she  always 
associated  sables  with  snowy  northern  regions, 
whereas  violets  suggested  soft  spring  days  and 
awakening  woods  and  gardens. 

185 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

Mrs.  Brash,  who  had  never  thought  of  putting 
things  together  in  that  way  before,  said  how  very 
poetic  it  was.  Then  would  Miss  Ursula  think 
that  quills  would  look  better  ?  After  all,  birds 
and  flowers  went  together. 

Ursula  agreed,  and  added  that  she  had  even 
found  the  neighbours'  fowls  scratting  up  the 
white  violets  one  day.  Mrs.  Brash  seemed  to 
feel  that  was  conclusive  proof  of  the  desirabihty 
of  the  combination.  And  in  that  case,  should 
the  quills  tilt  outwards  or  inwards  ?  No,  she 
didn't  mean  inside  the  hat,  of  course,  but  across 
the  top  or  off*  the  head  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  perhaps  it 
would  be  the  best  to  tilt  them  backwards,  and 
she  should  fasten  them  with  a  large  cameo  that 
had  belonged  to  the  late  Mr.  Brash's  mother 
(prohfic  details  as  to  the  grasping  character  of 
Mrs.  Brash,  senior,  who  had  never  given  her  a 
thing  except  this  cameo). 

Finally,  she  aired  her  only  anxiety — would 
the  shape  of  the  winter-before-last  toque  still  be 
worn  this  winter  ?  Ursula  assured  her  that  the 
shapes  of  the  winter-before-last  will  be  worn  till 
the  war  is  over,  and  by  that  time  we  shall  have 
become  so  attached  to  them  that  we  shall  refuse 
to  part  with  them. 

After  we  had  collected  a  fairly  comprehensive 
pile  of  clothes — including  most  we  possessed — 
and  placed  it  all  close  beside  the  bed,  jewellery 

1 86 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

came  under  discussion.  Naturally  no  one  wanted 
to  lose  even  the  smallest  tiara,  and  we  were  aU 
quite  sure  the  Government  wouldn't  include 
jewellery  in  the  insurance.  So  we  collected  our 
trinkets  and  placed  them  on  top  of  the  garments. 
It  was  astonishing  how  much  we  each  seemed  to 
possess,  and  how  careful  we  were  to  enumerate 
it  all.  Mrs.  Brash  enlarged  tearfully  and  at 
great  length  on  the  diamond  necklace  her 
late  husband  had  given  her. 

This  opened  up  a  wider  question.  How 
about  silver  plate  ?  Yes,  how  about  the  silver  ? 
each  one  echoed.  Was  it  Hkely  we  were  going 
to  hand  over  our  teapots,  shoeUfts,  candlesticks, 
pin-boxes,  spoons  and  forks,  hair-brushes,  entree- 
dishes,  and  photo-frames  to  the  enemy?  No, 
indeed  not  1  So  we  all  lugged  our  plate-chests 
to  the  bedside ;  though  Miss  Thresher  said  she 
should  put  hers  all  into  a  laundry  bag  and  hang 
it  on  the  bedpost ;  it  would  be  easier  to  carry 
that  way. 

Then  a  number  of  side  issues  cropped  up. 
Virginia  had  just  invested  in  the  War  Loan ; 
there  was  her  scrip.  Mrs.  Brash  couldn't  think 
of  leaving  behind  the  portrait  of  her  great- 
grand-uncle,  the  admiral  (always  thus  referred 
to,  as  though  no  other  had  ever  existed),  where- 
upon we  all  remembered  we  had  ancestral 
portraits  calling  for  preservation — after  all,  it 
doesn't  look  well  if  you  haven't  1 

187 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

Miss  Quirker  decided  she  would  take  the 
bedspread  she  had  crocheted  for  their  forth- 
coming Red  Cross  bazaar  (but  didn't  intend  to 
give  it  to  them  now  it  was  finished ;  it  was  far 
too  pretty.  Besides,  the  secretary  had  only  put 
her  name  in  small  type  among  "  other  ladies 
helping"  below  the  stallholders,  and  just  think 
how  she  had  slaved  over  that  bazaar !). 

Mrs.  Ridley  said  that  whatever  else  went, 
she  meant  at  all  costs  to  save  the  presentation 
clock  given  to  her  late  husband  by  a  very 
celebrated  patient,  whose  name  she  was  not  at 
Hberty  to  state.  I'm  inchned  to  think  this  was 
mentioned  as  a  set-off  against  Mrs.  Brash's 
diamond  necklace ;  the  late  Mr.  Brash,  though 
an  admirable  husband,  did  not  seem  to  have 
generated  anything  remarkable  in  the  way  of 
public  esteem,  whereas  the  late  Dr.  Ridley  was 
known  to  be  anything  but  generous. 

Mrs.  Ridley  had  no  diamonds  ;  but  the  clock 
was  of  solid  granite,  made  on  the  model  of  a 
pyramid.  It  was  surmounted  by  a  coy-looking 
sphinx,  representing  about  a  quarter  of  a  hundred- 
weight of  bronze  metal.  Accompanying  the 
pyramid — one  at  each  end  of  the  mantelpiece — 
was  a  pair  of  heavy  granite  obelisks  (like 
Cleopatra's  Needle,  but  just  a  size  smaller).  It 
took  both  the  servants  to  Uft  the  clock  every 
time  the  mantelpiece  was  dusted,  Mrs.  Ridley 
explained  with  pride.     Besides,  the  obelisks  were 

i88 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

very  useful  to  hang  her  knitting  bag  on,  and  so 
appropriate  too,  with  our  brave  lads  out  there 
rallying  round  and  defending  the  poor  sphinx 
from  the  Turks.  (Virginia  whispered  in  my  ear, 
it  was  no  wonder  the  bronze  lady  looked  so 
cheerful. ) 

So  of  course  these  weighty  items  joined  the 
jewellery  at  the  bedside. 

Other  valuables  rapidly  suggested  themselves  ; 
also  more  sordid  things,  such  as  matches  and 
candles,  a  tin  of  biscuits,  and  a  small  stove  and 
kettle,  for  use  if  we  had  to  sit  out  in  the  road  all 
night  gazing  at  a  ruined  home. 

And  of  course  we  placed  pails  of  sand  and 
buckets  of  water  close  at  hand,  to  use  if  it  should 
be  an  incendiary  bomb.  (I  hoped  I  shouldn't 
hop  out  of  bed  straight  into  the  water  !) 

Here  Ursula  reminded  me  that  the  pile  of  sand 
placed  on  the  platform  of  our  London  station 
several  months  (or  was  it  years  ?)  ago,  for  Anti- 
zeptic  treatment,  was  now  sprouting  luscious 
grass ;  obviously  the  lawn-mower  and  garden- 
roller  must  be  added  to  the  bedside  museum. 

But  I  told  her  afterwards,  she  had  better 
keep  quiet  if  she  lacks  the  ability  to  grasp  the 
strenuosity  of  any  situation  where  a  group  of 
conscientious  women  are  conversing  on  the 
subject  of  "doing  something."  As  it  was,  her 
remark  only  incited  Miss  Quirker  to  spend  a 
tedious  five  minutes  in  explaining  to   her   how 

189 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

impossible  it  would  be  for  a  single  woman,  with 
only  one  maid,  to  get  the  garden-roller  upstairs, 
and  another  ten  in  giving  her  recipes  for  exter- 
minating grass ;  while  Mrs.  Ridley  went  off  at 
a  tangent  on  the  shortage  of  gardeners,  and  the 
advantages  of  paraffin  over  fish-oil  as  a  lubricant 
for  mowing-machines. 

I  only  succeeded  in  getting  her  back  to  the 
agenda,  by  begging  her  to  advise  us,  as  she  was 
such  an  authority  on  paraffin,  whether  to  take 
an  oil-stove  or  a  spirit-lamp  for  the  outdoor 
encampment. 

At  length,  when  any  ordinary  bedroom  must 
have  been  packed  quite  full,  and  suggestive  of  a 
furniture  depository,  Virginia's  voice  rose  above 
the  babel — 

"  But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  how  am  I  ever 
going  to  get  into  bed  ? " 

"  You  may  well  ask  I "  said  her  sister. 
"  Look  at  the  time  !  Just  you  come  along  home 
with  me.  I'll  show  you.  Where's  my  eider- 
down ? " 

Miss  Thresher  besought  them  to  stay  a  few 
minutes  longer,  merely  to  decide  what  to  do 
when  the  Zeppelins  actually  arrived.  But  Ursula 
said  they  had  got  all  their  work  cut  out  to  get 
through  the  preparatory  stages  of  the  schedule. 

So  the  Committee  adjourned. 

As  they  went  out,  a  figure  came  out  of  the 
190 


Merely  to  be 
Prepared 

kitchen  side  entrance  and  made  for  the  coach- 
house, carrying  a  big  cardboard  box. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Abigail  ? "  I  asked. 

"  No'm  !  I'm  only  hiding  aU  our  best  hats  in 
the  stable ;  I  expect  they'll  be  less  Ukely  to  find 
them  there." 

"  But  the  Zepps  aren't  exactly  like  burglars  I " 
I  said. 

"No,  I  suppose  they're  not,"  she  replied, 
"but  when  a  creature  Uke  that  Kaiser  gets 
nosing  about  among  the  stars,  as  well  as  trying 
to  rampage  all  over  the  earth,  there's  no  teUing 
ivliat  he'll  be  up  to  next.  It's  as  well  to  be 
prepared." 


191 


IX 

Where  the  Road  Led 
Over  the  Hills 

Next  morning  I  was  a  wreck.  Virginia  and  her 
sister  were  the  same. 

For  a  week  past  I  had  realised  that  I  was  in 
the  last  stage  of  mental  and  physical  disrepair. 
The  midnight  committee  was  the  final  straw. 

As  a  rule,  I  stick  at  work  in  town  till  nerves 
and  brain  refuse  to  hold  out  another  day ;  then, 
flinging  my  tools  down,  and  leaving  both  my 
office  desk  and  my  study  table  in  a  hopeless  and 
bewildering  state  of  piled-up  letters,  MSS.  and 
proofe,  I  just  fly — a  goodly  bale  of  arrears 
following  me  by  next  post. 

I  had  had  practically  no  holiday  owing  to  the 
war,  and  had  reached  that  forlorn  and  useless 
frame  of  mind  when  I  declared  1  was  far  too 
busy  to  take  one — a  very  mistaken  notion  for 
anyone  to  have,  by  the  way ;  it  is  surprising  how 
weU  most  of  us  can  be  done  without  when  we 
do  at  last  take  a  little  time  off  duty  ! 

However,  1  had  just  one  faint  glimmer  of 
common  sense  left  me,  and  that  told  me  to  take 
the  first  train  going  west  next  morning,  which  I 
did,  leaving  Paddington  (in  company  with 
Virginia  and  Ursula,  who  had  a  holiday  due  to 

192 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

her  from  the  hospital)  in  a  warm  close  fog  that 
might  imply  a  thunderstorm,  or  an  early  autumn, 
or  merely  the  ordinary  airless  carbonic-acid  gloom 
that  is  a  distinguishing  feature  of  London.  Some 
eminent  authority  has  said  that  the  air  in  London 
hasn't  been  changed  for  over  a  hundred  years, 
and  I  can  quite  beUeve  it ! 

We  found  the  cottage  bathed  in  the  glow  of 
the  soft  sunshine  that  is  still  summer,  but  that 
brings  with  it  the  first  touch  of  regret  for  the 
good-bye  that  is  near  at  hand.  There  had  been 
some  soaking  rains  after  a  dry  spell,  and  every- 
thing in  the  garden  was  holding  up  bright, 
refreshed  leaves,  and  glowing  flowers,  one  and  all 
assuring  me  that  though  they  had  a  gasping  time 
a  few  weeks  before,  and  had  wondered  from  day 
to  day  if  they  could  manage  to  hold  on  till  the 
evening,  things  had  now  taken  a  glorious  turn 
for  the  better ;  and  they  were  glad  they  hadn't 
given  up,  since  I  was  so  pleased  to  see  them. 

Several  apologised  for  ragged  washed-out 
blossoms  lower  dowTi  their  stem,  but  explained 
that  it  was  due  to  the  rain,  and  that  they  were 
sending  up  new  ones  to  take  the  place  of  the 
shabby  ones  as  quickly  as  ever  they  could. 

The  dear  things  seemed  to  look  at  me  with 
such  understanding  sympathy ;  the  pansies  held 
up  their  bright  Httle  faces  just  Hke  a  bevy  of 
inquiring  children ;  the  hollyhocks,  I  am  sure, 
turned  round  to  look  in  my  direction ;  the  last 

193 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

of  the  sweet  peas  threw  out  tender  httle  fingers 
to  touch  my  arm  as  I  passed  beside  their  hedge ; 
the  golden  rod  stretched  its  neck  and  tiptoed 
lest  I  should  miss  it  at  the  back  of  the  border. 

Haven't  you  noticed  that  most  flowers  seem 
to  have  faces  ?  I  don't  mean  that  you  can  trace 
a  direct  resemblance  to  human  features  in  them 
as  you  can  in  the  moon ;  but  there  is  something 
in  the  flowers  that  looks  at  you — something  that 
looks  at  you  shyly,  as  the  wild  rose ;  or  stares 
at  you  boldly,  like  the  marigold ;  or  twinkles  at 
you  gaily,  like  the  cornflower  and  coreopsis ;  or 
appears  shghtly  inclined  to  frivoUty,  like  the 
larkspur  and  the  ragged  robin ;  or  takes  life  with 
soUd  seriousness,  like  the  Canterbury  bell;  or 
gives  you  the  innocent  look  of  a  baby,  like  the 
primrose ;  or  beams  at  you  with  large-hearted 
maternal  kindness,  Uke  a  big  gloire  de  Dijon. 

Most  flowers,  you  will  find,  give  you  a  look 
with  some  definite  characteristic — at  least,  so  it 
seems  to  me.  Probably  that  is  one  reason  why 
they  are  so  comforting  and  companionable. 

And  I  was  wanting  something  comforting 
and  companionable  that  day.  I  had  overworked 
and  generally  neglected  the  rules  of  common 
sense,  till  I  had  got  to  that  dismal  pitch  that 
simply  asks  of  blank  space,  "  What's  the  good 
of  anything  ? " 

Then  more  questions  began  to  worry  me. 

What  had  Christianity  accomplished,  seeing 
194 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

the  way  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  was  being 
trampled  under  foot  by  the  instigators  of  this 
war  ?  After  all,  wasn't  might  going  to  win,  in 
spite  of  all  one  believed  of  the  supremacy  of 
right  ?  Wasn't  the  devil  having  things  all  his 
own  way  now  ?  What  were  Christians  doing  ? 
Had  reUgion  lost  its  power?  What  were  the 
churches  doing  ?  Was  anybody  doing  anything 
worth  whiles  ? 

Those  who  have  let  themselves  run  down 
physically,  and  have  neglected  to  take  proper 
meals,  and  have  turned  night  into  day,  and  have 
tried  systematically  to  cram  a  fortnight's  work 
into  every  week,  know  exactly  where  one  finds 
oneself  at  the  end  of  a  few  months. 

And  it  is  only  the  very  exceptional  people 
who  do  not  find  their  spiritual  condition  about 
as  jaded  as  their  nerves  after  a  course  of  this  sort 
of  thing.  We  get  to  feel  that  we  are  ploughing 
a  very  lone  furrow,  and  it  is  only  a  step  further 
to  the  state  of  mind  that  says  it  isn't  worth 
ploughing  at  all. 

Personal  experience  has  taught  me  that  there 
is  only  one  cure  for  me  when  I  get  to  this  state 
of  nervous  wreckage ;  and  that  is  to  get  away 
to  the  solitudes ;  to  Hsten  among  the  great 
silences  of  the  hills  for  the  still  small  Voice 
that  has  never  failed  those  who  wait  for  its 
Message. 

God's  methods  of  restonng  weary  humanity 
195 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

are  many  and  various.  Sometimes  He  sees  that 
first  and  foremost,  like  Elijah,  His  tired  children 
need  rest  and  food.  And  just  as  one  of  the 
greatest  terrors  that  can  befall  the  worn-out 
worker  in  a  city  is  insomnia,  so  one  of  the 
greatest  boons  that  Nature  in  her  quietudes 
bestows  is  the  ability  to  drop  off  into  peaceful, 
brain-mending  oblivion. 

So  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep. 

Or  it  may  be  that  He  sees  His  children  need 
to  be  drawn  away  from  the  world  for  a  while,  in 
order  to  talk  face  to  face  with  Him.  Sometimes 
we  have  to  be  brought  to  a  state  of  great  weak- 
ness before  we  will  Usten  to  His  plea  :  "  Come  ye 
yourselves  apart  and  rest  awhile."  We  do  not 
always  heed  it  when  we  are  well  and  strong. 
In  the  enforced  quiet  we  can  find  time  to  turn 
to  Him. 

And  a  sojourn  with  our  Lord  in  the  desert 
has  meant  for  many  the  feeding  of  five  thousand 
on  the  morrow. 

When  I  am  badly  in  the  depths,  I  know  of 
no  surer  way  to  restore  my  mind  than  a  long 
walk  across  the  hills.  Some  people  need  human 
companionship ;  but,  personally,  I  can  do  very 
well  by  myself  under  such  circumstances  (always 
provided  that  I  don't  meet  a  cow  Hkewise  on  a 
walking  tour).  I  can  pull  myself  together  more 
quickly  if  I  don't  have  to  spend  time  and  energy 

196 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

striving  to  be  amiable  and  politely  attentive  to 
someone. 

I  have  often  started  out  on  a  Sunday  morning, 
and  walked  on  till  I  came  upon  some  unknown 
church  that  served  as  a  useful  end  to  my 
pilgrimage.  On  one  occasion  I  remember  dis- 
covering a  small  chapel  hidden  away  among  a 
few  homesteads  in  a  pretty  valley  I  unexpectedly 
tumbled  into.  They  were  starting  the  first  hymn 
as  I  entered.  There  were  nine  of  us  all  told, 
including  the  preacher,  the  two  ladies  who  raised 
two  different  tunes  simultaneously,  and  the 
rugged-faced  deacon  or  elder,  who  brought  me  a 
hymnbook  and,  later,  took  the  collection. 

The  singing  was  not  a  marked  success  at  first, 
owing  partly  to  the  divided  opinion  of  the  con- 
gregation as  to  which  tune  they  were  really 
singing  ;  moreover,  my  entrance  had  momentarily 
diverted  attention  and  seemed  to  make  all  con- 
cerned a  trifle  nervous.  But  at  length  the 
preacher  himself  started  a  third  tune  that  we 
all  knew  and  were  able  to  join  in ;  and  a  very 
sincere  and  devout  service  followed. 

I  gathered  from  information  impressed  upon 
us  in  the  course  of  the  sermon  (probably  for 
my  special  benefit,  as  the  handful  of  cottagers 
assembled  would  assuredly  know)  that  there  was 
to  be  a  special  collection  that  day  on  behalf  of 
some  chapel  fund. 

When  I  told  this  to  Ursula,  who  didn't  then 
197 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

know  so  much  about  our  hill-people  as  she  does 
now,  she  said,  "  Ah  !  I  suppose  that  was  why 
only  nine  came  !  " 

But,  in  reality,  nine  was  not  at  all  a  poor 
congregation  for  a  tiny  hamlet  like  this  on  a 
Sunday  morning.  The  mothers  are  mostly  at 
home  getting  dinner ;  the  fathers  are  seeing  to 
the  stock,  and  don't  reckon  to  get  themselves 
"cleaned  up"  till  the  afternoon.  But  in  the 
evening — then  the  little  building  would  be 
packed  to  the  door. 

In  his  final  prayer  the  minister  prayed  so 
earnestly  that  we  might  all  be  induced  to  give 
with  the  greatest  liberality,  that  I  felt  exceed- 
ingly sorry  I  had  only  put  a  half-crown  into  my 
glove  when  I  started  out,  leaving  my  purse  at 
home. 

The  rugged  elder  looked  studiously  in  the 
opposite  direction  while  I  sHpped  the  coin  on  to 
the  plate  ;  somehow  I  hoped  he  wouldn't  be 
too  disappointed  when  he  discovered  that  the 
respectable-looking  stranger  had  not  given  more 
handsomely  after  the  pleading  of  the  preacher. 
But  it  was  all  I  had. 

After  the  service  I  Hngered  a  moment  to  read 
a  quaint  old  tombstone  in  the  church  precincts. 
The  rest  of  the  worshippers  hkewise  lingered — 
respectful  but  curious — in  the  road  outside  the 
gate.  The  preacher  had  shaken  hands  with  me 
at  the  door ;  my  rugged  friend  had  been  immersed 

198 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

in  the  duties  of  his  office  as  steward,  treasurer, 
and  church  secretary  combined.  But  now  he 
came  out  of  the  door,  looked  anxiously  about, 
and  seeing  me  still  there,  made  straight  for  me. 
I  concluded  that  he,  too,  was  going  to  shake 
hands,  and  possibly  inquire  if  I  was  staying  in 
the  neighbourhood.  But  what  he  actually  said 
was  this — 

"  Excuse  me,  ma'am,  but  do  you  happen  to 
know  what  you  put  into  the  plate  ? " 

"  A  half-crown,"  I  faltered,  wondering  whether 
by  any  remote  chance  it  was  a  bad  one. 

He  nodded  his  head,  and,  opening  his  work- 
hardened  hand,  displayed  the  morning's  collection 
— seven  pennies,  three  halfpennies,  and  my  half- 
crown  on  top. 

"That's  right,"  he  nodded.  And  then, 
lowering  his  voice,  presumably  to  save  my 
feelings,  he  added,  "  But  if  'twas  a  mistake,  and 
you  didn't  mean  to  put  in  all  that,  you  can  have 
it  hack." 

Do  you  know,  it  made  a  lump  come  in  my 
throat. 

I  told  Ursula  about  it  at  dinner,  remarking 
that  it  looked  as  though  they  hadn't  much  faith 
even  though  they  had  specially  prayed  for 
generous  giving. 

Ursula  said  that  in  her  opinion  it  looked  as 
though  it  was  high  time  I  presented  to  the  rag- 

199  o 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

bag  the  hat  I  had  worn  that  morning,  since  it 
had  been  for  months  past  a  dejected  object  of 
pity,  though  with  her  usual  dehcacy  of  feeUng 
she  had,  up  to  the  present,  refrained  from  telling 
me  so  in  plain  Enghsh.  But  now,  in  all  kind- 
ness such  as  only  a  dear  friend  can  show,  she  had 
no  hesitation  is  saying  that  she  wasn't  at  aU 
surprised  that  they  mistook  me  for  an  old  age 
pensioner  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy. 

But  I've  been  wandering  again.  To  return 
to  that  September  day  when  I  reached  the 
cottage  as  weary  of  life  and  as  downhearted 
about  everything  as  any  mortal  could  well  be. 
The  whole  world  seemed  out  of  joint.  Yet  in 
my  innermost  soul  I  knew  that  religion  was  really 
all  right,  and  that  it  was  I  who  had  gone  wrong. 
But  I  refused  to  look  at  that  aspect  of  it. 

Next  day  I  determined  to  give  it  all  up,  and 
just  meditated  on  my  own  funeral.  I  tried  to 
reckon  up  how  many  people  I  could  really  rely  on 
to  send  wreaths  ;  it  didn't  make  me  feel  any  the 
less  pessimistic  when  I  decided  there  were  only 
four  who  could  be  counted  upon  as  certainties, 
and  they  included  Virginia  and  Ursula  ! 

And  even  one  of  these  failed  me ;  for  when 
I  mentioned  the  matter  to  the  girls,  they 
said :  Surely  I  didn't  imagine  they  were  going  to 
be  so  wasteful  as  to  send  two  wreaths,  when  one 
would  do  quite   as  well  if   both   their  names 

200 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hilts 

appeared  on  the  card  attached  ?  But  they  did 
offer  to  make  it  a  wreath  of  painted-white-tin 
flowers,  under  a  glass  shade  (regardless  of 
expense),  if  I  preferred,  suggesting  that  I  might 
get  longer  pleasure  out  of  a  wreath  of  this  kind. 

Getting  no  more  consolation  from  them  than 
this,  I  said  I  would  go  for  a  walk.  Virginia  and 
Ursula  anticipated  my  wishes  and  decUned  to 
accompany  me.  They  had  urgent  work  on  hand 
that  was  far  too  important  to  postpone  for  a 
mere  walk.     It  was  the  planting  of  onion  seed. 

The  week  before  we  had  read  in  the  papers 
how  imperative  it  was  that  everybody  should 
plant  food  crops  in  any  available  scrap  of  ground 
they  might  possess,  to  help  keep  starvation  at 
bay. 

We  read  the  article  eagerly. 

I  had  several  acres  of  land  doing  nothing  in 
particular  at  the  moment,  that  I  was  only  too 
glad  to  use  for  a  special  crop  of  eatables  against 
the  time  of  national  famine.  Without  finishing 
the  article,  we  had  started  to  discuss  what  would 
be  best  to  lay  down,  taking  into  account  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  our  digestions. 

"  Green  peas  in  the  small  field  adjoining  the 
orchard,"  Ursula  had  decided  for  me ;  and  then 
she  proceeded ;  "  Broad  beans  in  half  of  the 
upper  garden ;  scarlet  runners  at  the  back  of  the 
strawberry  beds  and  along  by  the  south  wall ; 
the  potato  garden  can  now  have  carrots,  parsnips, 

201  O   2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

turnips  and  beets ;  the  west  garden  must  have 
pickled  cabbage  (I  mean  the  cabbage  before  it  is 
pickled),  shallots,  spring  onions  and  pickling 
onions,  chives " 

"  What  are  *  chives '  ?  "  interrupted  Virginia. 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I've  read  the  name  some- 
where.    Don't  interrupt  me." 

"And  fennel — that  will  come  in  handy  for 
fish — and  leeks.  In  that  piece  of  waste  ground 
beyond  the  barn  I  think  we  ought  to  plant 
asparagus,  because,  after  aU,  there  is  no  need  to 
dispense  with  luxuries  if  you  can  grow  them  for 
nothing,  is  there  ? 

"  And  how  would  it  be  to  plant  maize  all  down 
that  bed  where  you  had  the  Shirley  poppies? 
I  should  think  the  same  aspect  would  suit  the 
two,  and  some  green  corn  would  be  very  nice. 
I  suppose,  if  you  plant  it  now,  it  will  be  about 
right  in  January  or  February,  wouldn't  it  ?  Or 
you  could  sell  it.  It's  twopence  halfpenny  or 
threepence  a  cob  at  the  Stores.  So  if  you  had, 
say,  fifty  plants,  and  if  each  produced — how 
many  do  they  produce  on  a  plant  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  well, 
if  you  don't  know,  let's  be  on  the  safe  side  and 
say  one  each — that  would  be  a  clear  profit  of — 
well,  at  threepence  each — let's  see,  fifty  pence  is 
four  and  twopence,  and  three  times  would  be — 
twelve  and  sixpence — say  twelve  shillings,  allow- 
ing sixpence  for  seed.  So  that  would  be  well 
worth  tiying,  in  case  the  moratorium  never  ends. 

203 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

Then  there  would  have  to  be  cabbages  and 
suchhke.  How  about  digging  up  the  orchard, 
and " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Virginia  scornfully  (she  had 
picked  up  the  paper  and  read  to  the  end  of  the 
aforementioned  article,  which  had  proved  very 
enlightening).  "  And  I  suppose  you  expect  it 
all  to  grow  under  a  couple  of  feet  of  snow.  Let 
me  tell  you  that  it  is  now  too  late  to  plant 
anything  but  onions  1  He,  she,  or  it,  who  wrote 
this  article,  says  so." 

I  myself  had  been  going  to  tell  her,  when  I 
could  get  a  word  in,  that  it  was  too  late  for  most 
of  the  things  she  had  named. 

But  Ursula,  who  had  never  done  any  vegetable 
gardening,  was  still  sceptical.  That  was  why  I 
suggested  that  we  should  consult  the  obliging 
manager  at  Carter's,  in  Queen  Victoria  Street, 
as  we  often  did  over  our  gardening  woes. 

Just  ahead  of  us  in  the  shop,  when  we  got 
there,  was  an  elderly  gentleman  who  wanted 
some  grass  seed ;  he  asked  if  they  would  tell  him 
how  to  start  a  lawn  next  spring. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  the  day — a  very  busy 
time  for  a  shop  of  this  kind,  when  city  men  are 
on  their  way  to  or  from  lunch,  and  seize  a  few 
extra  minutes  to  buy  their  seeds.  The  shop  was 
full — it  looked  as  though  every  scrap  of  land 
within  the  twelve-mile  radius  was  going  to  be 
put  under  cultivation — and  the  assistants  had  all 

203 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

their  work  to  serve  everyone  as  quickly  as  they 
wanted  to  be  served. 

The  Elderly  Gentleman  was  apparently  the 
only  one  who  was  not  in  a  hurry ;  so  he  asked 
the  most  minute  questions,  and  the  manager 
gave  him  copious  directions,  from  preparing  the 
ground  at  the  start,  right  up  to  marking  it  off 
for  tennis,  when  it  was  in  its  prime  (though, 
judging  by  the  small  packet  of  seed  the  E.  G. 
had  bought,  the  lawn  would  never  support  a 
tennis-net). 

Then  by  the  time  the  shop  was  quite  packed, 
and  when  everything  that  was  possible  appeared 
to  have  been  said  about  planting  and  maintaining 
a  lawn — including  keeping  it  free  from  moss,  the 
best  way  to  trim  the  edges,  the  law  with  regard 
to  trespassing  fowls,  and  the  careful  tying  of 
black  cotton  over  the  newly-planted  seeds  to 
keep  off  the  birds — the  E.  G.  asked  what 
he  should  do  when  daisies  came  up  ?  The 
manager  said  patiently  that  his  firm's  grass  seeds 
didn't  produce  daisies  ;  but  as  the  E.  G.  seemed 
to  worry  about  daisies,  he  was  told  how  to  get 
rid  of  daisies. 

At  last  he  really  went,  reluctantly,  I  admit ; 
but  the  other  customers — who  had  all  become  so 
engrossed  in  his  lawn  that  they  couldn't  remember 
what  they  had  come  in  to  buy  for  themselves — 
heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Slowly  he  made  his  way  to  the  middle  of  the 
204 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

wide  crossing  just  in  front  of  the  shop.  You 
knew  by  his  hesitating  walk  that  there  was 
another  question  he  had  meant  to  ask,  but  he 
couldn't  recall  it  for  the  moment. 

Yes  !  He  suddenly  turned  round  briskly  (and 
nearly  ended  the  lawn  under  a  taxi),  the  shop- 
door  opened  again,  and  an  anxious  voice  inquired, 
"  What  ought  I  to  do  if  the  birds  get  at  the 
seeds  in  spite  of  the  black  cotton  and  the  bits  of 
white  rag  tied  to  them  ?  " 

The  manager  passed  his  hand  across  what 
looked  Hke  an  aching  brow,  and  further  braced 
himself  to  do  his  duty  ;  but  a  gentleman  customer 
came  to  the  rescue  by  replying,  "It  is  usual,  in 
such  a  case,  sir,  to  buy  another  packet  of  grass 
seed,  and  start  all  over  again  on  exactly  the  same 
lines  as  before,  only  you  plant  an  extra  reel  of 
black  cotton  this  time." 

After  this  we  were  able  to  inquire  of  the 
manager  what  crops  he  would  advise  us  to  plant 
as  our  contribution  to  the  nation's  larder,  to  say 
nothing  of  our  own. 

"  Onions,"  he  said,  so  promptly  that  one 
would  have  thought  others  had  asked  the  same 
question.     And  then  added — "  Giant  Rocca." 

I  am  not  sure  how  many  pounds  of  seed 
Ursula  immediately  ordered;  she  proposed  to 
make  it  a  present  to  me,  and  naturally  wished  to 
be  generous.  Virginia  says  she  beUeves  she 
heard  her  say  a  half-a-hundredweight.    Anyhow, 

205 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

the  obliging  manager  asked,  with  a  slight  cough, 
how  large  a  portion  of  ground  we  were  intending 
to  cultivate,  as  half  an  ounce  would  be  sufficient 
for — I  forget  how  many  acres  !  So  she  reduced 
her  order  to  half  a  pound.  She  said  she  didn't 
want  us  to  run  short.  (I  don't  fancy  we  shall, 
either !)  Besides,  she  rather  liked  the  name 
"Giant  Rocca."  It  suggested  something  large 
and  strengthening  wherewith  to  combat  the  foe. 

We  hadn't  a  moment's  rest  after  we  arrived 
at  the  cottage  until  the  onion  seed  was  well 
underground.  Ursula  decided  that  it  would  be 
really  a  blessing  if  I  would  go  out — she  could 
then  plant  in  peace. 

The  handy  man  being  unable  to  "  oblige  "  me 
by  doing  a  Uttle  work  just  then,  she  had  decided 
to  plant  the  seeds  herself. 

At  first  she  had  made  long  troughs  in  which 
to  place  the  seed,  sprinkling  it  very  finely  with 
thumb  and  finger ;  but  after  half  an  hour  of  this 
spine-breaking  work  she  straightened  her  back 
with  difficulty,  and  decided  that  to  "  sow  broad- 
cast "  was  more  in  accordance  with  Nature  herself, 
to  say  nothing  of  Bibhcal  teaching.  Hence  we 
had  it  broadcast. 

Here  I  may  say  that  we  eventually  had 
Giant  Roccas  sown  the  length  and  breadth  of 
the  vegetable  garden,  in  between  the  rows  of 
spring  greens,  as  well   as  in  open  spaces ;   also 

206 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

they  are  sending  up  their  spears  between  rows  of 
snapdragons ;  round  standard  rose-trees ;  in  the 
beds  usually  devoted  to  Darwin  tuUps ;  down 
the  narrow  bed  that  has  Persian  irises  in  the 
centre  and  double  daisies  at  the  edge ;  in  the 
rough  bed  of  foxgloves  at  the  back  of  the  pigsty, 
along  the  edge  of  the  borders  where  sweet 
alyssum  bloomed  in  the  summer ;  under  the 
damson  tree  where  the  ground  is  bare ;  along  by 
the  south  wall,  where  the  sweet  pea  remains 
were  pulled  up  to  make  room  for  them ;  among 
the  raspberry  canes ;  all  over  the  potato-patch ; 
along  with  the  carnation  cuttings  in  the  cold 
frame ;  in  little  dibbles  among  the  strawberry 
plants ;  and  I  even  found  a  few  pots,  each  with 
a  bit  of  glass  over  the  top,  placed  in  the  sunny 
scullery  window,  which  also  proved  to  be  "  Giant 
Roccas,"  in  case  we  should  run  short  indoors. 

When  all  these  Roccas  have  attained  to  their 
gigantic  proportions,  I  fancy  we  shall  be  able  to 
scent  that  garden  a  mile  or  two  away  1 

Still,  the  onions  were  only  being  planted  the 
day  I  set  out  for  a  walk,  wandering  just  where 
the  road  might  chance  to  lead  me.  But  you 
have  to  take  yourself  with  you,  if  you  go  for  a 
walk,  and  it  is  some  time  before  you  can  get 
away  from  yourself — if  you  can  make  out  what 
I  mean  by  this. 

I  merely  walked  on  and  on,  looking  at  the 
207 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

blackbirds  gobbling  down  the  red  mountain  ash 
berries,  till  one  gasped  at  their  stowing-away 
capacity  ;  at  the  swallows  practising  their  long 
sweeping  flights  preparatory  to  leaving  us  ;  at 
the  ferns  growing  out  of  the  shady  side  of  the 
walls  ;  at  a  great  patch  of  rich  purple  in  the 
corner  of  a  field — that  turned  out  to  be  a  wide- 
spread tangle  of  flowering  vetch  ;  at  the  beautiful 
colour  effect  of  massed  heliotrope  Michaelmas 
daisies  against  the  grey-green  background  of  a 
mossy  fern-decked  old  stone  wall ;  at  the  hare- 
bells swinging  in  the  wind  ;  at  the  late  foxgloves, 
still  poking  beautiful  spikes  of  colour  through 
the  hedges  ;  at  the  blackberries  trailing  over 
everything ;  at  the  butterflies  still  flitting  about, 
or  resting  motionless  with  outspread  wings  where 
they  found  a  warm  sunny  stone,  or  gorging  them- 
selves to  repletion  on  some  over-ripe  pears  that 
had  fallen  by  the  roadside.  There  were  several 
lovely  creatures  with  blue-black  wings  marked 
with  red,  white  and  a  little  blue,  who,  like  the 
wasps,  were  actually  intoxicated  with  pear  juice  ! 

A  fox  slunk  across  the  road  right  in  front 
of  me,  and  plunged  into  a  wood  ;  probably  hav- 
ing the  time  of  his  Hfe  just  now,  with  most  of 
the  hunt  somewhere  in  France. 

The  springs  were  coming  to  life  again,  after 
the  heavy  rain,  and  water  burbled  along  at  the 
side  of  the  lane,  or  tumbled  out  from  the  rocks 
at  the  roadside  in  tiny  waterfalls. 

208 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

The  orchard  trees  were  flecked  all  over  with 
gold,  or  pale  yellow,  or  bright  crimson — surely 
we  never  had  a  more  abundant  apple  year  than 
this  one. 

It  was  such  a  wonderful  afternoon :  I  was 
bound  to  go  on  wandering. 

At  last  I  came  to  the  end  of  the  lanes  and 
found  myself  on  an  open  hilltop.  As  the  fresh 
bracing  air  met  me  full  in  the  face,  I  began  to 
feel  hungry.  I  looked  at  my  watch  :  it  was  five 
o'clock.  I  looked  at  the  landscape,  and  realised 
that,  though  I  didn't  know  where  I  was,  I  was 
certainly  miles  away  from  any  tea. 

I  paused  and  considered  :  Should  I  carefully 
retrace  my  steps  ?  That  always  seems  a  poor- 
spirited  way  of  getting  home  again,  even  though 
you  are  lost !  On  all  sides  stretched  an  expanse 
of  hilly  country,  grey  Hchen-covered  boulders, 
yellow-flowered  gorse,  wiry  mauve  and  purple 
heather,  and  a  wealth  of  green,  and  bronze,  and 
golden  tinted  bracken,  with  occasional  woods 
and  larch  plantations.  There  was  a  general  hum 
of  bees  and  insects  in  the  air,  and  a  pheasant 
rose  from  the  ground  close  to  me  and  flew  with 
a  whirr  into  a  little  coppice  near  by. 

A  sign-board  was  lying  on  the  ground  by  the 
gate  leading  into  the  coppice.  It  was  the  worse 
for  wind  and  weather,  but  one  could  still  read 
the  alarming  warning,  "  Trespassers  will  be  prose- 

209 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

cuted  !  "  Who  would  trespass,  and  who  would 
prosecute,  on  that  wild  bit  of  moorland,  I  wonder  ? 
The  only  being  in  sight  was  a  rabbit,  sitting 
motionless  close  beside  the  prostrate  notice  and 
studying  me  silently  with  the  air  of  a  special 
constable  I  Yet  even  he  went  off  and  left  me 
quite  alone. 

At  that  moment  I  caught  sight  of  a  chimney 
over  the  spur  of  the  hill.  I  felt  convinced  it 
must  be  attached  to  a  fireplace,  and  surely  there 
would  be  a  kettle  on  that  fire.  I  made  a  bee- 
line  for  the  place. 

To  the  eye  of  the  town-dweller,  hill  and 
moorland  distances  are  apt  to  be  deceptive ;  the 
house  proved  to  be  much  farther  off  than  I  had 
at  first  imagined.  But  this  gave  added  zest  to 
expedition ;  I  determined  to  reach  it  though  1 
only  arrived  in  time  to  put  up  there  for  the  night. 
A  nearer  view  showed  the  cottage  to  be  the 
fag-end  of  a  small  hamlet  lying  snugly  in  the 
protecting  hollow  of  the  hills. 

When  I  actually  entered  the  village,  there 
were  so  many  pretty  dwellings,  and  they  all 
looked  equally  inviting,  that  I  was  undecided 
where  to  open  an  attack.  However,  I  settled 
on  one  that  had  a  couple  of  hollyhocks,  some  late 
pinks,  and  a  black-currant  bush  growing  out  of 
the  top  of  the  garden  wall,  while  a  free-and-easy 
grape-vine,  a  tall  monthly  rose,  and  some  clematis 

2IO 


Where   the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

waved  arms  of  welcome  to  me  from  the  front  of 
the  cottage. 

Just  as  I  approached  the  gate,  a  pleasant-faced 
woman  came  out  of  the  door  and  walked  down 
the  garden  path  between  the  French  marigolds 
that  edged  the  flower-beds.  She  was  the  only 
sign  of  life  in  the  place  (apart  from  a  few  belated 
hens,  who,  being  averse  to  early  rising,  I  suppose, 
had  determined  to  take  time  by  the  forelock,  and 
were  catching  the  historic  early  worm  overnight). 

I  felt  that  the  good  lady's  appearance  was  a 
distinct  indication  that  Fate  had  decided  I  must 
have  my  tea  there.  Nevertheless,  there  were 
signs  that  she  was  bound  on  some  important 
errand;  instead  of  the  ordinary  sun-bonnet  or 
battered  hat  that  is  the  usual  weekday  headgear 
among  our  hills,  she  had  donned  a  carefully- 
brushed  though  somewhat  rusty  black  bonnet, 
and  a  black  beaded  mantle  of  unquestionable 
antiquity,  both  worn  with  the  air  of  her  Sunday 
best. 

"  Good  evening,"  I  began.  "  I'm  sorry  to 
trouble  you,  but  I  wonder  if  you  can  tell  me 
where " 

"Th'  chapel?"  replied  the  woman  before  I 
could  finish  my  sentence.  "  Why,  of  course  you 
can't  find  'un.  But  you  jes'  come  'long  wi'  me. 
I'm  going  there  meself,  an'  though  we'm  a  bit  late, 
it  don't  matter;  my  man  '11  be  keeping  a  seat 
fur  me,  and  ther'U  be  room,  sure  'nough,  for  'ee 

211 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

to  squeeze  in  too.  I  do  al'ays  tell  'un  our  chapel 
didn't  oughter  belong  where  'tis.  No  place  o' 
worship  was  ever  more  hid  out  o'  road  than  ourn. 
Yet  my  man  do  say  'tis  clear  'nough  to  see  'un  if 
you'm  comin'  'long  the  lower  road ;  for  there  'tis 
all  to  once.  But  as  I  say  to  him,  the  folk  don't 
all  a-come  down  'long  the  lower  road  ;  an'  if  you 
come  up  'long,  why,  there's  no  chapel  to  be  seen, 
and  then  where'm  you  to  ?  What  I  do  say  is, 
the  way  o'  salvation  oughter  be  so  plain  that  th* 
wayfarin'  man,  though  a  /ooZ,' can't  lose  un.  An' 
now  here  be  you  to  prove  me  very  words  ! " 

The  good  soul  was  all  this  time  trotting 
energetically  along  what  I  concluded  could  not 
be  the  lower  road,  since  no  chapel  was  in  view. 
I  just  followed,  wondering  what  would  happen 
next !  Meanwhile  my  companion  talked,  with 
scarcely  comma-pause  for  breath. 

"  But  I'm  glad  I  happen  to  be  late,  or  you 
might  ha'  been  wanderin'  around  till  you're  all 
mizzy-mazed.  Soon  as  I  saw  you  comin'  up 
'long,  I  said  to  father — I  was  jes'  settlin'  'im 
comfor'ble  for  th'  night — '  Father,'  I  said,  '  here's 
a  lady  a-lookin'  fur  the  chapel,  sure  'nough.  I 
shuden  wonder  a  bit  but  what  she's  come  to 
speak  at  th'  meeting.  Like  as  not  she's  a  friend 
of  the  minister,  an'  'pears  she's  lost.'  I  suppose 
you  belong  to  London,  ma'am  ? "  This  with  a 
glance  all  over  me  to  make  sure  there  was  no 
local  hall-mark. 

212 


Where   the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

"  My  home  is  in  London,"  I  replied,  "  but 
just  at  present  I'm  staying  at  Woodacres." 

"  You've  walked  all  the  way  from  Wood- 
acres  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  t 

"  Yes ;  and  I'm  terribly  hungry,"  I  said, 
hurriedly  seizing  my  chance. 

At  this  the  kind  hospitable  soul  was  most 
concerned,  and  insisted  on  our  turning  into  a 
relative's  house  which  we  were  passing  at  the 
moment.  The  door  stood  open,  though  the 
place  seemed  to  be  deserted. 

"  Myra,"  she  caUed  out.  A  girl  came  down- 
stairs with  some  pocket-handkerchiefs  in  her 
hand  which  she  appeared  to  be  marking  in  red. 
There  was  a  hurried  whisper  in  a  back  room, 
and  quickly  she  brought  in  a  glass  of  milk  and 
some  bread  and  butter — for  which  I  was  truly 
thankful. 

"  The  lady  do  look  wisht,"  my  companion 
explained  to  the  girl.  "  She's  walked  from 
Woodacres  to  hear  the  minister  from  London. 
She  lost  her  way,  and  so  didn't  get  in  time  for 
the  tea-meeting." 

I  was  interested  in  this  item  of  information 
about  myself,  but  decided  to  let  the  unexpected 
situation  develop  as  it  pleased. 

We  were  soon  walking  along  the  road  again, 
my  companion  talking  the  whole  time.  Myra 
was  her  niece,  going  to  Bristol  next  week  to 
start  in  a  draper's  shop.    "  She  says  'tisn't  stylish 

213 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

nowadays  to  let  folks  think  as  you  does  your 
washing  yourself,  so  she's  making  sort  o'  red 
oughts  and  crosses  in  the  corner,  that  the  other 
girls  'U  think  as  the  washin'  was  put  out.  Put 
out,  indeed !  " — with  utter  scorn  of  voice — "  '  Isn't 
it  all  put  out  ?  '  I  asks  her.  How  could  they  dry 
'un  else  ?  I've  no  patience  with  such  fangels — 
that  I  haven't !  And  isn't  this  war  dreadful  ? 
I  see  in  the  paper  I  was  a-readin'  to  father 
that  that  Kayser  do  call  it  a  righteous  war.  A 
righteous  war — when  he  don't  even  leave  off 
a-fighting  of  a  Sunday  I  " 

Just  then  we  turned  a  corner,  and  the 
maligned  chapel  certainly  burst  into  view  "all 
to  once." 

The  first  thing  to  attract  attention,  as  we 
neared  the  modest  building,  was  a  large  board 
above  the  front  entrance,  displaying  the  words 
"  Revival  Meetings  "  in  bold  white  letters  pasted 
on  a  red  turkey  twill  background. 

A  hymn  was  progressing  when  we  entered  ; 
a  seat  had  been  reserved  for  the  cottager  by  her 
husband,  and  had  been  left  in  charge  of  his  hat 
(turned  upside  down  and  holding  a  red  pocket- 
handkerchief  covered  with  large  white  spots), 
while  he  himself  distributed  hymn  books  with 
backs  all  suffering  from  spinal  complaint  in  a 
more  or  less  acute  form. 

By  dint  of  energetic  compression  on  the  part 
214 


Where   the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

of  the  good-natured  occupants  of  the  pew,  room 
was  made  for  me  as  well  as  for  my  companion, 
the  owner  of  the  hat  electing  to  stand  in  the 
aisle,  as  became  a  pillar  of  the  church ;  the  con- 
spicuous crease  adorning  each  trouser-leg  and 
the  back  of  his  black  coat  proclaimed  them  his 
best  clothes,  and  gave  additional  evidence  that 
the  meeting  was  of  more  than  ordinary  week- 
day importance. 

The  place  was  packed  to  its  utmost  capacity. 
I  decided  that  I  had  never  in  my  whole  life  heard 
a  harmonium  more  asthmatically  out  of  tune 
and  at  the  same  time  I  wished  that  the  lamps 
(which  were  economically  turned  down,  daylight 
being  still  visible)  could  only  be  raised,  since  the 
odour  of  paraffin  was  not  a  refreshing  ingredient 
to  add  to  the  air  of  the  already  close  room. 
For  on  our  hills,  as  in  other  places  where  fresh 
air  is  most  abundant,  ventilation  is  the  least 
among  the  virtues  practised  by  the  natives. 

The  congregation  took  some  sHght  adjust- 
ment before  all  managed  to  wedge  themselves 
into  the  seats  after  the  hymn.  The  general 
shuffle  and  scuffle  having  subsided,  a  man  on  the 
platform  addressed  the  assembly. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  our  brother  has  not  yet 
arrived." 

The  glow  of  expectancy  on  the  faces  of  the 
people  suddenly  vanished. 

"  We  think  he  has  made  a  mistake  over  the 
215  p 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

time  of  commencement ;  possibly  he  imagines  it 
is  seven  instead  of  six  o'clock ;  but  he  is  certainly 
coming,  or  he  would  have  telegraphed " 

The  disappointed  ones  looked  hopeful  again. 

**  Two  friends  have  driven  off  to  meet  him  " 
— many  heads  craned  round  in  the  direction  of 
the  door,  though  the  honoured  pair  were  now  a 
couple  of  miles  away — "  and  they  will  doubtless 
bring  him  along  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  think 
we  may  safely  rely  on  him  being  here  in  about 
half  an  hour."  All  eyes  now  scanned  the  face 
of  the  clock.  "  In  the  meanwhile,  we  will  hold 
a  short  Testimony  meeting ;  and  perhaps  Brother 
Wilson  will  first  of  all  lead  us  in  prayer." 

The  man  with  the  hymn-books,  standing  in 
the  aisle,  responded.  Without  a  moment's  halt 
or  hesitation  he  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  mingled 
appeal,  confession,  praise  and  request.  He 
touched  on  their  week  of  services,  on  themselves 
as  a  church,  on  the  village  and  (according  to  his 
view)  its  state  of  spiritual  darkness ;  then  he 
went  further  afield  and  dealt  with  the  whole  of 
England,  the  sailors  on  our  warships,  and  the 
soldiers  on  the  battlefields.  This  thought  led 
him  to  mention  the  Colonies,  the  missionaries 
labouring  in  foreign  lands ;  and  then  he  prayed 
for  the  heathen  who  Hved  so  far  away  that  no 
missionary  had  yet  reached  them.  He  concluded 
with  a  plea  for  all  backshders  and  a  psean  of 
gratitude  for  those  who  were  saved. 

216 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

The  congregation  followed  the  long  prayer 
intently,  punctuating  every  remark  with  "  Amen," 
and  many  other  expressions  of  assent,  uttered 
devoutly  though  fervently. 

Then  the  one  who  presided  asked  all  who 
had  received  a  blessing  that  week  to  testify  to 
the  others  of  the  great  things  that  had  befallen 
them.  He  sat  down.  After  a  pause  of  but  half 
a  minute,  a  woman  rose,  saying  in  a  quiet  voice — 

"  I  feel  I  ought  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity 
of  telling  how  good  God  has  been  to  me.  I  came 
to  these  meetings  as  hopeless  as  any  human 
being  could  very  well  be ;  but  God  has  lifted  the 
load  from  my  soul ;  and  now,  although  I  cannot 
see  any  Ught  ahead.  He  has  shown  me  He  is 
near,  and  I  am  content  to  walk  by  faith.  And 
I  know  the  light  will  come  soon." 

She  sat  down,  and  the  only  sound  that  broke 
the  stillness  was  the  voice  of  the  chairman — 

"  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord  ;  trust  also 
in  Him ;  and  He  shall  bring  it  to  pass." 

A  decrepit  old  man  next  hobbled  to  his  feet. 
His  voice  was  feeble ;  but  the  peaceful  look  on 
his  wrinkled  face,  and  the  Hght  that  shone  in  his 
eyes,  carried  wonderful  conviction  with  them. 
He  was  somewhat  diffuse,  but  dwelt  on  all  the 
goodness  that  had  fallen  to  his  lot  through  life, 
and  his  eager  anticipation  of  the  call  that  should 
summon  him  Home. 

When  once  the  ice  was  broken,  the  people 
217  p  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

followed  one  another  as  fast  as  they  could.  An 
elderly  woman  sitting  next  to  me  rose  to  her 
feet,  steadying  herself  by  holding  on  to  the  pew 
in  front  with  her  work-worn  hands,  for  she  was 
trembling.  She  spoke  in  a  hesitating  manner ; 
yet  what  she  said  had  infinite  pathos  in  it. 
Would  they  remember  in  their  prayers  the  lads 
who  were  fighting  so  far  away,  some  out  of 
reach  of  any  services  like  these,  that  they  might 
not  forget  the  God  of  their  father  and  mother, 
and  that  they  might  be  brought  back  safely  to 
the  old  home  again. 

And  the  poor  woman,  who  was  evidently 
much  overwrought,  just  sat  down  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  handkerchief.  I  couldn't  help  putting 
my  hand  over  hers  in  sympathy. 

There  were  many  other  bowed  heads  in  the 
meeting  by  then — old,  careworn  women  as  well 
as  younger  ones,  old  men  in  plenty,  but  so  few 
young  fellows. 

"  Let  us  pray,"  said  the  chairman.  All  eyes 
were  closed.  There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  then 
another  voice  full  of  wonderful  restfulness  sent 
up  a  prayer  to  the  Great  Comforter  on  behalf  of 
all  the  mothers  and  fathers  present,  who  night 
and  day  were  longing  for  their  sons'  return,  and 
for  the  wives  who  with  aching  hearts  were 
hungering  for  news  of  the  absent  loved  ones. 
The  prayer  was  very  simple  and  unconventional, 
just  the  asking  of  a  boon  from  a  Friend.     But 

218 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

the  speaker  understood  the  heartbreaks  that  were 
in  those  suppressed  sobs,  and  his  words  brought 
comfort  to  many  a  lonely  one  that  night. 

When  he  ceased,  the  lamps  were  all  raised, 
and  there  on  the  rostrum  was  one  of  the  greatest 
— if  not  the  greatest — of  the  preachers  of  cfur 
times. 

"  The  minister  from  London  "  had  arrived. 

I  was  amazed  when  I  saw  him  there — a  man 
who  preached  every  Sunday  to  congregations 
numbering  several  thousands ;  whose  name  was 
the  most  powerful  attraction  that  could  be  found 
for  a  May  meeting  poster  or  a  Convention  pro- 
gramme ;  a  theologian  whose  lectures  and 
writings  were  followed  with  the  closest  attention 
by  hundreds  of  students. 

As  he  stood  up  in  that  small  village  chapel, 
the  first  thought  that  came  into  my  mind  was 
something  like  this :  What  a  waste  to  have  such 
a  big  man  at  a  small  meeting  Hke  this  when  he 
could  easily  fill  Albert  Hall ;  and  in  any  case  he 
will  probably  be  right  above  their  heads ;  he  is 
far  too  scholarly  for  these  simple-minded  un- 
educated people.    He  will  be  quite  lost  on  them. 

What  I  forgot  was  the  fact  that  after  all  it  is 
the  Message  that  counts  in  such  a  case. 

The  famous  preacher  had  a  Message  for 
humanity  ;  and  he  was  great  enough  to  be  able 
to  deliver  it  in  a  way  that  would  be  understood 

219 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

by  anyone,  rich  or  poor,  educated  or  illiterate. 
And  he  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  he  might 
be  doing  a  big  work  in  speaking  to  that  handful 
of  people  in  that  remote  corner  of  England, 
seeing  that  a  chance  visit  had  brought  him  into 
the  vicinity ;  therefore,  when  they  had  asked  him 
if  he  would  speak  at  the  revival  meetings  they 
were  holding,  he  had  consented  at  once ;  and  I 
was  not  the  only  one  who  had  reason  to  be 
grateful  to  God  for  the  preacher's  words  that 
night ;  mine  was  not  the  only  heavy  heart  that 
had  come  into  the  Uttle  chapel  badly  in  need  of 
an  uplift;  I  was  not  the  only  one  who  felt 
almost  alone  in  a  losing  cause,  with  all  the  old- 
time  beliefe  tottering. 

He  read  from  Revelation  vii.  in  the  Revised 
Version : 

After  these  things  I  saw,  and  behold,  a  great  multitude, 
which  no  man  could  number,  out  of  every  nation,  and  of  all 
tribes  and  peoples  and  tongues,  standing  before  the  throne 
and  before  the  Lamb,  arrayed  in  white  robes,  and  palms  in 
their  hands;  and  they  cry  with  a  great  voice,  saying, 
Salvation  unto  our  God  which  sitteth  on  the  throne,  and 
imto  the  Lamb  .  .  . 

And  one  of  the  elders  answered,  saying  unto  me,  These 
which  are  arrayed  in  the  white  robes,  who  are  they,  and 
whence  came  they  ?  And  I  say  unto  him,  My  lord,  thou 
knowest.  And  he  said  to  me.  These  are  they  which  come 
out  of  the  great  tribulation,  and  they  washed  their  robes,  and 
made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  Therefore  are 
they  before  the  throne  of  God  ;  and  they  serve  Him  day  and 

220 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

night  in  His  temple  :  and  He  that  sitteth  on  the  throne  shall 
spread  His  tabernacle  over  them.  They  shall  himger  no 
more,  neither  thirst  any  more ;  neither  shall  the  sun  strike 
upon  them,  nor  any  heat:  for  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the 
midst  of  the  throne  shall  be  their  Shepherd,  and  shall  guide 
them  unto  fountains  of  waters  of  life :  and  God  shall  wipe 
away  every  tear  from  their  eyes. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  as  he  closed 
his  Bible.  And  then  he  began  to  talk  to  the 
Httle  crowd  before  him — not  about  the  war,  but 
about  much  that  the  war  is  bringing,  trouble, 
sorrow,  suffering,  anxiety — great  tribulation 
indeed. 

I  am  not  going  to  make  any  attempt  to  give 
you  his  sermon :  merely  to  take  isolated  sen- 
tences from  a  man's  address,  and  set  them  down 
in  cold  print,  deprived  of  the  added  strength  and 
meaning  that  voice  and  tone  and  emphasis  and 
context  convey,  is  usually  most  unsatisfactory. 

But  I  wish  you  could  have  been  there  and 
seen  the  tense  eager  look  on  every  face,  as  he 
took  us  quickly  and  concisely  over  the  great 
crises  that  have  befallen  humanity  in  bygone 
ages,  when  it  has  seemed  again  and  again  as 
though  Christianity  has  been  dealt  a  staggering 
blow — and  yet  in  every  case  the  result  has  been 
the  ultimate  triumph  of  God,  and  the  building 
up  of  His  people. 

He  reminded  us  how  the  darkest  day  in 
the    world's   history,   when    our    Lord's    death 

221 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

seemed  to  end  all  hope,  all  promise  of  His 
Kingdom,  was  in  reality  the  day  of  the  greatest 
victory. 

But  I  cannot  give  even  a  summary  of  his 
address  ;  I  can  only  tell  you  of  the  effect  it  had 
upon  me,  and  I  think  there  were  many  others 
to  whom  Light  came  in  a  strangely  vivid  manner 
that  evening. 

It  seemed  as  though  I  was  suddenly  taken 
right  out  of  my  own  small  petty  troubles,  and 
shown  a  bigger  view  of  the  world  than  I  had 
ever  seen  in  my  widest  imaginings  before. 
Things  that  had  been  perplexing,  bewildering 
before,  seemed  to  fit  in  quite  naturally  into  a 
huge  plan  that  was  making  for  the  ultimate 
good  of  humanity.  But  more  than  all  this,  there 
suddenly  came  that  enheartening  sense  of  being 
no  longer  a  unit,  no  longer  one  of  a  small  com- 
pany fighting  against  overwhelming  odds  ;  I  was 
now  one  of  a  huge  army  that  had  been  marching 
on  through  all  time,  an  army  that  will  still  be 
adding  and  adding  to  its  numbers,  so  long  as  the 
world  shall  last. 

I  seemed  to  hear  the  trampling  of  the  feet,  the 
great  surge  of  the  voices  as  they  sang  the  old  yet 
ever  new  anthem — 

"  Salvation  unto  our  God  which  sitteth  on 
the  throne,  and  unto  the  Lamb.  Blessing,  and 
glory,  and  wisdom,  and  thanksgiving,  and  honour, 

222 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

and  power,  and  might,  be  unto  our  God  for  ever 
and  ever." 

Here  was  no  room  for  doubt ;  no  question  as 
to  ultimate  results ;  no  misgivings ;  no  appre- 
hensions. The  final  victory  did  not  rest  with 
me ;  but  I  was  privileged  to  take  part  in  it  if  I 
was  willing  to  endure  any  hardships  or  tribulation 
that  might  happen  by  the  way.  And  even  these 
seemed  so  slight,  not  to  be  mentioned  beside  the 
joy  of  the  great  triumph  that  was  surely  ahead. 

The  Vision  comes  to  us  all  differently,  at 
different  times,  in  a  different  manner ;  but 
assuredly  I  had  a  glimpse  then  of  the  things  that 
are  outside  our  everyday  ken.  I  knew  for  an 
absolute  certainty  that  I  was  one  of  the  greatest 
army  that  can  ever  be  mustered ;  I  knew  for  an 
absolute  certainty  that  God  is  leading  this  army, 
and  that  with  Him  there  is  no  possibiUty  of 
failure,  and  that  finally  He  will  permit  evil  to  be 
banished  and  Good  will  prevail.  I  reahsed  that 
any  afflictions  we  are  called  upon  to  bear  here  are 
but  for  a  moment.  Nothing  can  hinder  the 
progress  of  the  great  multitude  that  no  man  can 
number — Christ's  followers  through  all  the  ages. 
In  spite  of  all  the  trihulsition—because  of  the 
tribulation — they  reach  His  throne  at  last,  and 
worship  Him,  while  He  wipes  away  the  tears 
that  may  have  gathered  by  the  way. 

My  thoughts  had  journeyed  far  away  from 

223 


The  Flow^er-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

the  little  chapel  and  its  earnest  worshippers.  I 
was  recalled  by  the  preacher's  voice  reciting  his 
closing  sentence — 

"  And  I  saw,  and  I  heard  a  voice  of  many 
angels  round  the  throne  .  .  .  and  the  number 
of  them  was  ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand, 
and  thousands  of  thousands ;  saying,  with  a 
great  voice,  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that  hath 
been  slain  to  receive  power,  and  riches,  and 
wisdom,  and  might,  and  honour,  and  glory,  and 
blessing." 

We  stood  up  to  sing  the  concluding  hymn — 
one  that  has  for  long  been  a  great  favourite  of 
mine — 

Coming,  coming,  yes,  they  are, 

Coming,  coming,  from  afar ; 

From  the  wild  and  scorching  desert, 

Afric's  sons  of  colour  deep  ; 
Jesu's  love  has  drawn  and  won  them, 

At  the  cross  they  bow  and  weep. 

Coming,  coming,  yes,  they  are, 
Coming,  coming,  from  afar ; 
From  the  Indies  and  the  Ganges 

Steady  flows  the  hving  stream 
To  love's  ocean,  to  His  bosom, 

Calvary  their  wond'ring  theme. 

Coming,  coming,  yes,  they  are, 
Coming,  coming,  from  afar; 
From  the  Steppes  of  Russia  dreary, 
From  Slavonia's  scatter'd  lands, 
224 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

They  are  yielding  soul  and  spirit 
Into  Jesu's  loving  hands. 

Coming,  coming,  yes,  they  are, 

Coming,  coming,  from  afar ; 

From  the  frozen  realms  of  midnight, 

Over  many  a  weary  mile. 
To  exchange  their  soul's  long  winter 

For  the  summer  of  His  smile. 

Coming,  coming,  yes,  they  are, 
Coming,  coming,  from  afar  : 
All  to  meet  in  plains  of  glory. 

All  to  sing  His  praises  sweet : 
"What  a  chorus,  what  a  meeting, 

With  the  family  complete  ! 

And  how  that  hymn  was  sung  1  It  all  seemed 
part  of  the  music  of  the  Great  Army.  No  longer 
we  thought  primarily  of  the  troops  rallying  to 
the  call  of  the  Mother  Country  and  coming  from 
the  far  ends  of  the  world  to  fight  in  earthly 
warfare ;  our  souls  saw  farther  than  this — a 
multitude  out  of  every  nation  of  all  tribes  and 
peoples  and  tongues,  ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand,  and  thousands  of  thousands,  all  march- 
ing under  the  banner  of  the  Lord  Jehovah. 

I  had  received  the  answer  to  the  questions  1 
had  been  asking  earlier  in  the  day  :  "  What  had 
Christianity  accomplished  ? "  It  had  accom- 
plished this :  It  had  enlisted  this  mighty  stream 
of  humanity.  We  in  that  humble  little  chapel 
were  merely  a  small  handful,  but  we  belonged  to 

225 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

that  Great  Army ;  we  had  only  to  march  on, 
trusting  and  worshipping  God. 

Was  it  possible  that  I  had  been  picturing 
myself  one  of  a  small  force  struggling  for  Right 
that  was  in  danger  of  being  overmastered  by 
Might  I  Now,  I  saw  ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand,  and  thousands  of  thousands,  on  ahead 
of  me,  and  could  even  hear  the  tramp  and  the 
singing  of  the  tens  of  thousands  that  would 
follow  on  after  me. 

Oh,  it  was  wonderful  to  feel  oneself  in  such  a 
mighty  company ! 

At  the  close,  while  I  was  exchanging  greet- 
ings with  the  preacher,  my  friend  who  had 
brought  me  to  the  chapel  busied  herself  in 
finding  someone  who  would  be  driving  home  in 
my  direction — the  meeting  had  been  attended 
by  people  from  many  miles  round.  She  dis- 
covered that  a  farmer  and  his  wife  were  driving 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  my  cottage,  and  I 
was  placed  in  their  trap,  carefully  wrapped  up  in 
a  warm  Paisley  shawl  that  had  been  produced 
from  somewhere,  the  night  being  described  as 
"  a  bit  freshish,  after  all  the  dryth  we've  had." 

We  didn't  talk  much  on  the  homeward 
journey.  My  companions  were  thinking  some 
deep  thoughts,  I  was  certain,  from  the  few 
remarks  they  let  drop.  But  we  English  do  not 
easily  betray  our  hearts  in  public.     Hence  the 

226 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

farthest  the  farmer's  wife  got  was  the  remark, 
"I'd  dearly  Hke  to  hear  he  again."  To  which 
her  husband  repHed,  "  Ay  !  for  sure." 

They  told  me  the  meetings  had  been  much 
blessed,  but  this  one  was  the  best  of  all.  Oh, 
yes,  quite  different  from  the  others.  No,  the 
usual  congregation  was  not  as  large  as  this,  only 
about  forty ;  the  village  was  small.  But  people 
had  come  from  all  over  the  hills  this  week ; 
to-day  twenty  had  walked  in  from  Brownbrook 
— that  was  seven  miles  each  way. 

They  went  on  without  any  connecting  link 
to  say  they  felt  sure  the  English  would  win. 
There  was  no  doubt  in  their  minds  about  this, 
one  could  see  ;  and  then  the  reason  was  clear. 
"Our  Tom's  there," the  woman  explained  to  me, 
as  though  I  of  course  knew  "  Our  Tom,"  and  his 
presence  at  the  front  settled  the  matter. 

And  I  thought  of  the  many  fathers  and 
mothers  who  were  looking  away  across  the 
Straits,  with  just  that  pride  and  faith  because 
"  Our  Tom  "  is  helping  his  country. 

At  last  we  came  to  the  little  lane  that  turned 
off  from  the  turnpike-road,  and  led  to  my  cottage, 
and  I  said  good-bye  to  my  companions.  The 
small  white  dog  with  the  brown  ears  had  heard 
my  footsteps  and  had  run  out  joyfully  to  meet 
me ;  he  had  begun  to  be  seriously  concerned  as 
to  whether  he  would  ever  get  a  proper  meal 

227 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

again  !  The  night  was  certainly  a  bit  freshish, 
but  a  glorious  moon  was  out,  and  the  hills  were  all 
high  Ughts  and  deep  shadows.  I  stopped  a 
moment  at  my  own  gate,  to  look  down  at  the 
old  grey  Abbey  lying  in  the  valley  seven 
hundred  feet  below.  Everything  was  still  and 
peaceful.  Only  an  owl  called  to  another  one  in 
the  steep  woods  across  the  river,  and  a  couple  of 
baby  owls  answered.  An  apple  fell  with  a  dull 
thud  whenever  the  wind  drifted  across  the 
orchard.  It  was  so  quiet,  so  restful ;  it  was 
difficult  to  think  there  was  lurid  war-fog  away 
beyond  those  hills. 

Then  suddenly,  as  I  watched,  I  saw  in  the 
distance  a  procession  of  swinging,  twinkhng 
lights  moving  along  a  footpath  that  cut  through 
a  wood  and  crossed  a  low  spur  of  the  hills. 

For  the  moment  I  wondered  what  it  was, 
but  in  an  instant  1  knew ;  it  was  the  party  from 
Brownbrook  on  their  homeward  tramp,  and 
their  lanterns  were  lighting  them  down  the 
rugged  precipitous  footpath  that  was  lying  in 
deep  shadow. 

When  they  reached  the  level  road  they 
started  singing,  their  voices  in  beautiful  harmony, 
rising  up  and  echoing  again  and  again  against 
the  steep  hillsides. 

Was  I  thinking  of  battlefields  with  a 
saddened  heart  again  ?  No,  the  cloud  had  Hfted 
from  my  soul;    I   could    look  for    something 

228 


Where  the  Road 
led  over  the  Hills 

better,  something  more  world-wide  in  its  effects 

than  even  this   terrible  war.      And  as  I  stood 

thinking  all  this,  the  words  came  up  to  me  that 

they  were  singing,  as  they  tramped  along  the 

silent  moonlit  road,  at  the  foot  of  the  forest-clad 

hills: 

"Coming,  coming,  yes,  they  are. 
Coming,  coming,  from  afar ; 
All  to  meet  in  plains  of  glory. 

All  to  sing  His  praises  sweet: 
What  a  chorus,  what  a  meeting, 

With  the  family  complete !  " 


229 


The  Little  People  of 
the  Streams 

Have  you  ever  heard  the  Little  People  of  the 
Streams  smging  in  the  night  ?     I  wonder  ! 

Once  you  have  heard  their  music  you  will 
never  forget  it  I 

The  first  time  I  heard  it  was  one  February — 
shortly  after  I  had  taken  the  cottage — the 
season  above  all  others  when  the  brooks  and 
falls  and  mountain  springs  are  over-full  of  water, 
that  hurries  along  at  a  great  pace,  tumbling  over 
rocks,  dropping  down  into  green  wells  and 
grottos  below,  always  galloping  down  hill  till 
finally  it  reaches  the  ever-rushing  river  in  the 
valley. 

By  day,  each  brook  seems  merely  to  be  chatting 
sociably  to  the  banks  and  the  long  harts-tongue 
ferns  as  it  passes  down,  and  you  only  hear  one  at 
a  time.  But  after  dark,  when  most  other  sounds 
have  ceased,  the  voices  of  the  streams  seem  to 
grow  marvellously  in  volume. 

I  was  lying  awake  one  night  with  the  windows 
open,  listening  Uterally  to  the  sound  of  many 
waters,  and  trying  to  disentangle  them. 

First  I  heard  the  spring  outside  my  garden 
gate  as  it  scrambled  down  from  the  hillside  above, 

230 


The  Little  People 
of  the  Streams 

splashing  the  overhanging  greenery  with  hght 
spray,  and  finally  pouring  out  of  a  little  trough 
—dark  brown  wood,  closely  enamelled  with  green 
mosses — into  a  rocky  pool,  where  it  ceases  its 
swirl  for  half  a  minute,  just  while  it  gets  its 
breath,  before  rushing  on  down  the  hill,  finding 
its  own  way  around,  or  over,  all  sorts  of  obstacles, 
and  resenting  any  interference  of  man. 

Soon  I  could  distinguish  a  second  brook,  that 
serves  a  cottage  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further  along 
the  lane,  before  it  winds  about  and  enters  my 
lower  orchard.  This  had  overflowed  in  the 
orchard,  and  was  having  quite  a  gay  time,  run- 
ning skittishly  out  of  the  orchard  gate  and  into 
another  lane,  instead  of  pursuing  its  proper 
course. 

Next  I  was  able  to  detach  the  conversation 
of  the  small  waterfall  that  drops  about  a  hundred 
feet  from  an  overhanging  ledge  of  rock  into  a 
green  cave  under  the  hill,  where  mosses  of 
wonderful  size  abound,  and  yellow  flags  stand 
guard  at  the  entrance,  with  creeping  jenny  and 
forget-me-nots  just  outside. 

The  sound  always  seems  to  increase  as  you 
listen,  and  soon  I  detected  the  noise  of  the  river  as 
it  tears  over  successive  weirs.  If  the  tide  is  low 
it  is  often  a  roar  when  you  stand  on  the  river 
bank  beside  a  weir  ;  but  up  here  on  the  heights 
the  noise  is  softened  to  a  purling  sound,  that  runs 
like  a  never-ceasing  ground-bass  or  pedal  note 

231  Q 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

amid    the    fluctuating     tones    of    the    nearer 
streams. 

Other  and  more  distant  murmurings  floated 
in  at  the  window ;  but  one  could  never  allocate 
them  all,  for,  excepting  in  the  hottest  weather, 
this  is  in  truth  "  a  good  land,  a  land  of  brooks  of 
water,  of  fountains  and  depths  that  spring  out  of 
valleys  and  hills." 

I  was  thinking  of  this,  when  suddenly  the 
babbhng  of  the  water  was  drowned  in  the  sound 
of  wonderful  bells  that  rose  upon  the  night  air. 
It  was  not  from  our  village  church ;  that 
possesses  only  one  bell,  whose  sound,  unfor- 
tunately, resembles  nothing  so  much  as  a  cracked 
iron  shovel  struck  with  a  pair  of  tongs :  and 
there  is  no  other  bell  for  miles  around. 

And  yet  there  was  no  mistaking  it.  I  could 
distinctly  hear  the  joyous  clashing  and  clanging 
of  bells  in  a  tall  steeple. 

It  was  no  brazen  banging ;  rather,  some  fairy 
music,  Hke  the  cariUon  at  Mahnes  (which  I  am 
proud  to  remember  I  once  played,  though,  alas  1 
I  shall  never  play  it  again). 

I  listened  in  amazement ;  soon  was  added 
the  sound  of  voices,  hke  subdued  distant  singing 
in  some  vast  cathedral,  while  the  bells  still  clashed 
outside.  Yet  it  was  never  close  at  hand ;  it 
always  seemed  to  float  to  me  from  a  distance. 

I  was  sure  I  was  not  asleep,  for  I  knew  where 
I  was,   and   decided  to  get  up  and  go  to  the 

232 


The  Little  People 
of  the  Streams 

window,  when — the  dog  barked — (probably  he 
could  hear  a  fox  prowling  around  outside). 
Instantly  the  spell  was  broken.  I  opened  my 
eyes  ;  there  was  no  sound  but  the  murmuring 
and  burbUng  of  the  brooks. 

Like  a  sensible  person,  I  of  course  decided 
that  I  had  been  dreaming. 

Yet  again  and  again  have  I  heard  the  clang- 
ing bells,  with  often  the  sound  of  an  organ  and 
singing  wafted  through  the  open  window.  It 
always  comes  when  the  streams  are  most  im- 
petuous and  when  I  am  in  that  lotus-flowering 
land  that  Hes  between  awakeness  and  sleep. 

The  music  is  always  enthrallingly  happy,  and 
my  only  regret  is  that  the  bells  and  the  singers 
do  not  come  a  trifle  nearer,  so  that  I  could 
catch  every  note  and  jot  it  all  down  for  future 
reference. 

I  related  my  experiences  to  one  or  two 
people ;  but  this  was  all  the  information  they 
seemed  able  to  give  me  : 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  should  run  down  to  Mar- 
gate for  a  week  or  so,  and  leave  all  work  behind. 
Go  to  a  nice  bright  boarding-house,  where  there 
are  lots  of  people,  and  enjoy  yourself;  and  forget 
about  that  wretched  cottage.  You've  been  over- 
doing it  lately.  I  had  another  friend  just  Uke 
you — got  a  little  peculiar,  you  know,  and  then 
— well,  I  won't  tell  you  any  more ;  don't  want 
to  make  you  nervous,  of  course,  but — her  mother 

233  Q  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

never  got  over  it,  and  so  well-connected,  too — 
kept  three  motors.  You  take  my  advice.  I'll 
send  you  the  name  of  a  charming  boarding- 
house  I  know,"  etc. 

Then  I  kept  my  own  counsel,  and  decided 
that  there  were  Little  People  living  in  the 
streams,  just  as  I  had  always  liked  to  picture 
them  living  in  the  flowers  and  under  the  mush- 
rooms. And  the  music  I  heard  was  the  Little 
People  singing,  and  ringing  all  the  harebells  and 
foxglove  bells  that  grow  along  the  banks  of  the 
brooks. 

I  concluded  that  no  one  had  ever  heard  them 
but  myself.  But,  to  my  surprise,  one  day  I 
found  that  others  did  know  about  these  Little 
People ! 

I  was  reading  "  The  Forest,"  by  Stewart  E. 
White,  where  he  describes  his  impressions  and 
experiences  as  he  lay  awake  at  night  in  a  tent 
on  the  banks  of  a  Canadian  river,  when  I  came 
upon  the  following,  that  in  many  points  coin- 
cides with  my  own  sensations  : — 

'*  In  such  circumstances  you  will  hear  what  the  boatmen 
call  the  voices  of  the  rapids.  Many  people  never  hear  them 
at  all.  They  speak  very  soft  and  low,  and  distinct,  beneath 
the  steady  roar  and  dashing,  beneath  even  the  lesser  tinklings 
and  gurglings  whose  quality  superimposes  them  over  the 
louder  sounds.  In  the  stillness  of  your  hazy  half-con- 
sciousness they  speak;  when  you  bend  your  attention  to 
listen,  they  are  gone,  and  only  the  tumults  and  the  tinklings 
remain. 

234 


The  Little  People 
of  the  Streams 

"  But  in  the  moments  of  their  audibility  they  are  very 
distinct.  Just  as  often  an  odour  will  awake  all  a  vanished 
memory,  so  these  voices,  by  the  force  of  a  large  impressionism, 
suggest  whole  scenes.  Far  off  are  the  cling-clang-cHng  of 
chimes  and  the  swell-and-fall  murmur  of  a  multitude  en  fete, 
80  that  subtly  you  feel  the  gray  old  town,  with  its  walls,  the 
crowded  market-place, 'the  decent  peasant  crowd,  the  booths, 
the  mellow  church  building  with  its  bells,  the  warm,  dust- 
moted  sun.  Or,  in  the  pauses  between  the  swish-dash- 
dashings  of  the  waters,  sound  faint  and  clear  voices  singing 
intermittently,  calls,  distant  notes  of  laughter,  as  though 
many  canoes  were  working  against  the  current;  only  the 
flotilla  never  gets  any  nearer,  nor  the  voices  louder.  The 
boatmen  call  these  mist  people  the  Huntsmen,  and  look 
frightened.  .  .  .  Curiously  enough,  by  all  reports,  they  suggest 
always  peacefulness — a  harvest  field,  a  street  fair,  a  Sunday 
morning  in  a  cathedral  town,  careless  travellers — never  the 
turmoils  and  struggles.  Perhaps  this  is  the  great  Mother's 
compensation  in  a  harsh  mode  of  Ufe. 

"  Nothing  is  more  fantastically  unreal  to  teU  about, 
nothing  more  concretely  real  to  experience,  than  this  under- 
note  of  the  quick  water.  And  when  you  do  Ue  awake  at 
night,  it  is  always  making  its  unobtrusive  appeal.  Gradually 
its  hypnotic  spell  works.  The  distant  chimes  ring  louder 
and  nearer  as  you  cross  the  borderland  of  sleep.  And  then 
outside  the  tent  some  httle  woods  noise  snaps  the  thread. 
An  owl  hoots,  a  whippoorwill  cries,  a  twig  cracks  beneath 
the  cautious  prowl  of  some  night  creature — at  once  the 
yellow  sunlit  French  windows  puff  away — you  are  staring  at 
the  blurred  image  of  the  moon  spraying  through  the  texture 
of  your  tent." 

Since  reading  this,  I  have  spoken  of  the 
matter  to  others  with  more  courage ;  and 
although   the   majority   do    not    seem    to  have 

235 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

come  across  them,  I  have  discovered  several 
people  who  have  heard  the  Little  People  singing. 

Some,  indeed,  have  been  kind  enough  to 
attempt  to  give  me  a  lucid  explanation  of  what 
they  are  pleased  to  call  a  very  simple  natural 
phenomenon,  and  they  prattle  of  enharmonics  and 
sound  vibrations,  of  nodes  and  super-tones,  in  a 
very  impressive  manner.  One  tells  me  the  whole 
thing  is  merely  a  psychological  emotion  vibrating 
in  sympathy  with  the  acoustical  environment. 

I  dare  say. 

Personally,  I  would  just  as  soon  leave  it 
unelucidated.  There  are  certain  moods  in  which 
I  do  not  want  such  things  as  nature,  and  love, 
and  beauty,  and  self-sacrifice  explained.  It  is 
enough  for  me  that  they  are,  and  that  I  have 
been  permitted  to  enjoy  them. 

And  although  I  know  that  the  Little  People 
are  not  necessarily  wearing  gauze  wings  and 
white  frocks  and  stars  in  their  hair,  as  I  pictured 
them  in  my  first  childhood,  I  still  like  to  think 
that  even  in  the  brooks  something  is  singing, 
something  rejoicing,  something  giving  thanks  for 
the  gift  of  fife. 


236 


XI 

The  Funeral  of  the  Hero 

It  was  three  months  after  the  funeral  of  the 
Village  Hero.  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I 
haven't  mentioned  the  funeral  before. 

The  hero,  a  porter  at  the  Uttle  railway  station, 
enhsted  very  early  in  the  campaign.  Our  village 
— in  the  main — did  nobly  in  the  way  of  early 
enlistment. 

A  quiet,  retiring  young  fellow,  he  had  never 
singled  himself  out  for  any  sort  of  notoriety, 
though  I,  personally,  had  always  remarked  on 
his  unvarying  courtesy  and  his  wiUingness  to  do 
everything  he  could  to  assist  passengers. 

The  news  of  his  death  was  the  first  thing  to 
bring  the  War  actually  home  to  our  isolated 
corner  of  the  world. 

People  had  known  he  was  ill,  because  his 
wife  had  been  summoned  to  a  mDitary  hospital 
some  weeks  before,  when  his  condition  was 
pronounced  critical.  But  no  one  had  really 
anticipated  the  worst — till  it  came.  And  then 
the  word  passed  quickly  from  cottage  to  cottage  : 
"  Poor  Aleck's  gone  ! " 

"  Ay  I  You  don't  say  so  I  Ain't  it  just  hke 
they  Huns  to  go  and  kill  off'  the  best  of  the 

237 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

bunch,"  said  one  woman  who  never  had  a  good 
word  for  the  lad  during  his  lifetime. 

One  and  all  agreed  forthwith  that  proper 
respect  must  be  shown  to  "  the  remains  " ;  and 
those  who  didn't  intend  to  inconvenience  them- 
selves by  fighting,  felt  they  were  serving  their 
country  nobly  by  seeing  that  poor  Aleck  had  a 
handsome  funeral. 

The  news  of  his  death  reached  the  village  on 
Friday.  On  Saturday  the  older  members  of  the 
family  selected  the  spot  for  his  grave  in  the  little 
churchyard,  as,  of  course,  he  must  be  buried  near 
his  home. 

By  Sunday  all  the  relatives  to  the  remotest 
generation  wore  deep  mourning  to  church  — 
thanks  to  the  superhuman  efforts  of  the  village 
dressmaker,  and  numerous  ready-mades  pur- 
chased in  the  nearest  town. 

The  Rector  was  in  a  nursing-home  in  London 
at  the  time,  but  the  curate,  though  only  newly 
arrived,  preached  a  moving  sermon,  extolling 
the  courage  of  the  young  man  who  had  died 
"with  his  face  to  the  foe,  braving  the  falling 
shells  and  raining  bullets  in  order  to  defend  his 
country." 

The  sentiment  was  right — Aleck  was  willing 
to  do  all  that ;  but  in  reaUty  he  never  got  beyond 
a  training  camp  on  the  east  coast,  where,  the  air 
proving  too  bleak  for  him  after  the  mildness  of 
the  west,  he  had  gone  down  with  pneumonia. 

238 


The  Funeral 
of  the   Hero 

The  new  curate  didn't  know  that,  however, 
and  everybody  said  it  was  a  beautiful  sermon, 
and  went  and  told  the  poor  mother  about  it, 
as  she  had  been  too  grief-stricken  to  go  to 
church. 

So  far  the  widow  had  not  written  herself; 
but  that  wasn't  surprising ;  she  would  be  too 
broken  down  with  trouble.  WiUing  heads  and 
hands  did  all  they  could,  however,  to  anticipate 
her  wishes. 

They  telegraphed  to  the  former  curate  (now 
the  vicar  of  a  crowded  Lancashire  parish)  and 
asked  if  he  would  conduct  the  funeral ;  he  had 
known  the  deceased  from  boyhood.  He  wired 
back  :  "  Yes  ;  send  day  and  hour." 

They  sent  to  uncles  and  aunts  and  cousins 
throughout  Great  Britain :  all  who  could  arrived 
post  haste  on  Monday.  And  what  a  gathering  it 
was  of  outstanding  members  of  the  clan  !  Those 
who  hadn't  recognised  each  other's  existence  for 
years  now  forgot  their  ancient  feuds,  while  one 
and  all  discovered  such  good  quahties  in  the  poor 
lad,  and  were  so  anxious  to  insist  on  the  nearness 
of  their  relationship,  that  his  death  did  not  seem 
altogether  in  vain. 

I  myself  wrote  a  note  to  the  v^ddow,  only 
waiting  to  post  it  till  I  could  get  her  address. 

Miss  Bretherton,  the  Rector's  niece,  hurried 
home  from  London  to  do  what  she  could  to 
comfort  the  parents,  who  were  aloof  from  the 

239 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

general  excitement  and  knew  only  the  sorrow  of 
the  occasion. 

While  waiting  for  further  details  to  arrive, 
people  made  wreaths,  and  discussed  how  best  the 
engine  could  be  draped  in  black. 

As  there  was  no  letter  by  Tuesday  morning, 
and  the  vicar  in  Lancashire  had  again  asked  for 
particulars,  the  self-constituted  committee  of 
management  decided  to  send  a  wire  to  the 
widow.  After  composing — and  then  discarding — 
twenty-six  different  messages,  till  the  post-office 
was  threatened  with  a  famine  in  telegram  forms, 
the  post-mistress  came  to  their  assistance,  and 
suggested  that  the  wording  should  be  as  brief 
and  as  straightforward  as  possible,  to  save  mis- 
understanding— and  expense.  Eventually  they 
were  all  persuaded  to  agree  to  the  following : 

"  What  train  will  the  coffin  come  by  ? 
Reply  paid." 

In  about  an  hour  the  widow  answered : 

"Whose  coffin?  Don't  know  what  you 
mean.     Aleck  nearly  well." 

The  whole  village  has  had  three  points  under 
discussion  ever  since. 

I.  Who  was  it  said  he  was  dead  ? 

II.  Can  a  man  be  made  to  pay  for  his  own 
grave  being  dug  when  he  refuses  to  occupy  it  ? 

III.  And  what  is  to  become  of  the  mourning 
anyhow  ? 

240 


XII 

Just  a  Little  Piece  of 
Griskin 

I  WAS  reminded  of  the  funeral  when  I  arrived  at 
the  valley  station  one  spring  morning,  by  the 
fact  that  it  was  "  the  remains  "  who  opened  the 
carriage  door  for  me  and  helped  us  out  with 
our  things. 

He  was  home  for  a  few  days'  leave,  looking 
very  smart  and  upright  in  his  uniform ;  and  he 
saluted  (even  though  he  permitted  himself  to 
smile)  when  I  gave  him  a  half-crown,  telling 
him  to  buy  himself  a  wreath. 

The  white-painted  garden  gate  had  been 
placed  wide  open  by  way  of  welcome.  We  had 
left  behind  us,  in  town,  weather  that  called  itself 
the  end  of  March,  but  in  reaUty  ought  to  have 
been  January ;  we  arrived  at  the  Mttle  cottage 
to  find  that  the  calendar  had  taken  a  leap 
forward,  for  here  it  was  hke  the  end  of  April. 
On  the  grey  stone  walls  beside  the  gate  clumps 
of  wallflowers  were  in  bloom — masses  of  pale 
primrose  flowers  mixed  with  those  of  a  rich  rose- 
purple  variety ;  only  these  two  sorts  had  been 
planted  in  the  chinks  of  this  particular  wall.  1 
am  sure  the  dear  things  nodded  at  us  as  we 
entered. 

241 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

All  over  the  garden  were  more  wallflowers 
bursting  by  the  thousand  into  bloom.  Some 
beds  were  a  mixture  of  clear  bright  yellow 
flowers,  combined  with  the  sort  that  are  a  deep 
mahogany,  looking  as  though  they  were  made 
of  velvet;  other  beds  had  a  pretty  rose-pink 
variety ;  while  on  the  top  of  more  walls,  and  in 
corners  and  patches  about  the  garden,  were  the 
old-fashioned  "streaky"  kinds,  all  aglow  with 
brown  and  yellow. 

The  long  bed  in  front  of  the  porch,  given 
over  to  cowslips,  oxlips,  polyanthus,  auriculas, 
and  suchhke  homely  flowers,  was  very  gay. 
The  polyanthus  were  a  dehghtful  medley  of 
claret  colour,  pink,  brown,  crimson,  orange, 
yellow,  most  of  them  looking  as  though  the 
edges  of  the  petals  had  been  buttonholed  around 
with  silk  of  a  contrasting  colour.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  flowers  in  this  bed  fairly  tip-toed  as 
we  came  along  the  path,  and  stretched  their 
necks  as  high  as  ever  they  could,  from  out  of 
their  crinkled  leaves,  to  show  how  remarkably 
fine  they  were. 

In  the  narrow  beds  under  the  cottage 
windows  double  daffodils  made  plenty  of  colour, 
and  at  the  edge  were  clumps  of  primroses — 
various  shades  of  pink  and  crimson.  These  had 
seeded  over  into  the  path,  with  the  result  that 
baby  primrose-plants  were  coming  up  cheerily 
between  the  rough   flagstones.      The   ordinary 

242 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  GHskin 

yellow  primrose  was  starring  the  grass  all  about 
the  orchard,  where  wild  daffodils  were  swaying 
by  the  hundred.  The  white  flowers  of  the  black- 
thorn were  Uke  snowdrifts  on  the  hedges. 

It  was  so  wonderful,  after  the  bleak,  cheerless 
aspect  of  town,  to  come  upon  this  world  of 
smiling  growing  things.  The  soft  air,  sweeping 
over  the  hills,  brought  the  scent  of  ploughed 
fields  and  newly-turned  earth,  of  bursting  buds 
and  opening  blossoms,  with  the  ozone  of  the  sea, 
and  the  salt  of  the  weed  that  lies  on  the  rocks 
around  the  hghthouse  in  the  far-away  distance. 

There  seemed  to  be  an  all-pervading  peace 
that  laid  hold  of  one's  very  soul ;  and  yet  you 
could  not  say  it  was  really  quiet,  for  birds  were 
giving  rival  concerts  in  every  tree,  and  quite  a 
number  were  devoting  their  energies  to  saying 
insulting  things  to  the  newcomers  and  the  small 
dog  who  had  taken  the  liberty  of  encroaching  on 
their  ancient  heritage.  They  are  not  sufficiently 
grateful  for  the  fact  that  I  leave  my  woods  un- 
cut, and  undisturbed,  as  bird  sanctuaries. 

Lambs  were  bleating  in  the  valley  meadows  ; 
the  spring  gurgled  cheerfully  outside  the  gate  as 
it  tumbled  out  of  the  spout  into  the  pool  below. 

We  stood  in  the  garden  for  a  moment  to 
take  a  good  breath,  and  drink  in  as  much  of  the 
beauty  as  we  could,  when  Virginia  just  touched 
my  arm  and  looked  towards  a  long  belt  of  trees 
— mostly  oak  and  fir — that  runs  down  one  side 

243 


The  riower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

of  the  garden  and  orchards,  linking  the  larch 
woods  up  above  us  with  the  birch  and  hazel 
coppice  down  below — ^the  coppice  where  the 
nightingales  sing,  and  the  tiny  wrens  and  the 
tomtits  build,  and  where  the  little  dormouse 
lives,  who  comes  out  from  among  the  under- 
growth, with  no  apparent  fear,  when  I  stand  in 
the  wood-path  and  softly  whistle. 

This  barricade  of  trees  was  originally  left 
standing  when  the  rest  of  the  ground  was  cleared, 
to  screen  the  house  from  the  winter  gales.  But 
we  have  named  it  the  Squirrels'  Highway. 

Sure  enough,  as  we  stood  there  silent  and 
motionless,  down  came  one  Uttle  bushy  tail  from 
the  upper  woods,  followed  by  another,  probably 
his  wife.  They  leapt  from  branch  to  branch,  and 
from  tree  to  tree,  nibbling  a  young  oak  shoot 
here,  sniffing  delicately  at  a  few  leaves  some- 
where else. 

Little  bright  eyes  looked  down  and  saw  the 
strangers ;  but  they  had  seen  them  before,  and 
no  harm  ever  resulted — only  lovely  feasts  of  nuts 
laid  out  on  the  tops  of  walls — so  they  just  ran 
on  down  their  own  highway,  seeming  as  light  as 
feathers,  and  leaping  and  springing  with  in- 
describable grace. 

At  last  they  got  to  the  high  wall  that  divides 
the  lower  orchard  from  the  birch  and  hazel 
coppice,  and  they  played  along  that  wall,  bright 
spots  of  reddy-brown  against  the  dark  green  of 

244 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

the  ivy  and  the  purple  tone  of  the  swelling  birch 
buds.  All  seemed  gaiety  and  happiness,  till  a 
third  little  bushy  tail  popped  up  over  the  wall 
from  the  coppice — and  then  there  were  fire- 
works indeed  !  I  expect  they  were  relations  who 
were  not  on  cordial  terms  !  We  left  them  having 
a  whole-hearted  hand-to-hand  fight — which,  I 
must  say,  seems  a  much  more  satisfactory  way 
of  setthng  a  difference  than  either  Zepp  or 
submarine  methods. 

Indoors  the  table  had  been  laid  for  tea,  pre- 
paratory to  our  arrival,  by  Mrs.  Widow,  who,  as 
already  mentioned,  is  the  custodian  of  the  house 
in  my  absence.  She  gives  an  old-world  curtsy 
that  is  very  disarming,  and  says,  "  I'm  main  glad 
to  see  you  back  again,  miss,  and  I  hope  you'U 
find  everything  to  your  Hking." 

That,  however,  is  as  it  may  be. 

Nevertheless,  there  is  something  about  the 
way  that  table  is  always  laid  that  rejoices  my 
heart,  even  though  I  might  not  wish  to  have  my 
meals  set  in  that  pattern  every  day.  The  large 
white  cloth  may  not  present  the  glass-like  surface 
of  the  town-laundered  tablecloth,  but  at  least  it 
is  white,  and — like  the  cottage  sheets  and  towels 
and  pillow-cases — it  holds  the  scents  of  the  hill- 
side garden  where  it  was  hung  out  to  dry ;  and 
though  the  creases  are  somewhat  ridgy  and 
insistent,  and  the  cloth  has  been  ironed  a  trifle 

245 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

askew,  I  know  several  people  who  would  rather 
have  tea  off  this  tablecloth  than  the  most 
elaborate  dinner  and  the  finest  napery  that 
London  hotels  can  produce. 

Knives  and  forks  are  placed  with  great  pre- 
cision around  the  table  at  intervals,  a  cup  and 
saucer  and  plate  beside  each,  the  crockery  never 
by  any  chance  matching  !  In  the  mathematical 
centre  a  loaf  of  farmhouse  bread  stands  on  a 
kitchen  plate,  flanked  on  one  side — to  the  East, 
as  it  were — by  a  large  white  jug  holding  a  quart 
of  mUk,  and  to  the  West,  by  the  sugar  basin. 
The  big  brown  teapot  stands  at  the  South  Pole  ; 
and  a  pudding-basin  of  new-laid  eggs,  laid  by  the 
widow's  own  fowls,  are  waiting,  at  the  North 
Pole,  to  be  cooked.  A  small  plate  bearing  a 
dinner  knife  and  half  a  pound  of  butter  (which  is 
never  put  into  the  proper  butter  dish)  is  placed 
at  :the  South- West ;  this  is  balanced  at  the 
South-East  by  a  pot  of  home-made  jam  and  a 
tablespoon.  Watercress  and  lettuce  may  grace 
the  table,  though  this  will  be  according  to  the 
season ;  but  summer  or  winter,  one  feature  is 
never  omitted,  and  that  is  a  large  kitchen  jug  full 
of  flowers,  gathered  by  Mrs.  Widow  from  her 
own  garden. 

On  the  day  I  am  writing  about,  the  jug  had 
a  brave  handful  of  daffodils,  a  few  sprays  of  red 
ribis,  dark-brown  wallflowers,  some  small  ivy, 
with  some  short-stemmed  polyanthus  suffocating 

246 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  GHskin 

in  the  centre  of  the  big  bunch.  And  it  is 
wonderful  how  much  you  can  get  crammed  into 
one  jug  when  you  try  I 

Abigail,  having  none  of  my  weak-minded 
leanings  towards  "  the  primitive,"  scornfully 
whisked  the  whole  lot  off  the  table,  as  soon  as 
Mrs.  Widow  had  gone  back  to  her  own  cottage, 
and  re-laid  it  on  modern  hues. 

We  did  not  hurry  over  the  meal.  Virginia 
got  on  a  lengthy  dissertation  as  to  the  crying 
need  for  fish  forks  with  magnetised  prongs  that 
would  just  draw  the  bones  out  of  the  fish,  without 
any  prehminary  search  and  scrutiny.  I  suggested 
a  radium  tip  to  the  prongs — I  could  think  of 
nothing  that  seemed  more  suitable — but  she  said 
that  might  demolish  fish  and  all,  in  which  case 
one  would  get  no  more  personal  satisfaction 
out  of  the  creature  than  one  does  when  having 
to  eat  it  with  its  full  complement  of  bones 
intact. 

I  then  ventured  a  suggestion  that  forks  made 
like  an  ordinary  magnet  would  do,  if  the  fish 
were  given  steel  drops  in  regular  doses  for  a  few 
weeks  before  being  caught,  so  as  to  get  its  bones 
susceptible  to  the  magnet.  But  Virginia  was 
very  lofty,  as  she  always  is,  about  my  scientific 
explanations.  I  never  heard  her  solution  of  the 
problem,  because  the  telegram  boy  arrived  at  the 
moment,  with  a  wire  for  Abigail,  saying  that  her 

247  R 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

mother  had  broken  her  arm  (a  genuine  case 
this  time !). 

So  she  left  by  the  next  train,  bewailing  the 
fact  that  her  mother  could  not  get  compensation 
from  anyone,  as  she  had  given  up  a  post  of 
housekeeper  but  three  months  before ;  if  she 
had  only  been  in  the  situation  still  she  could  have 
claimed  £300  a  year  for  life,  Abigail  thought — 
provided  the  arm  could  only  be  induced  to 
remain  broken. 

Some  people,  especially  her  relatives,  were 
always  unfortunate,  she  said,  while  others  were 
just  the  reverse.  There  was  a  cousin  of  a  friend 
of  hers  ;  he  had  been  out  of  work  for  a  year  or 
so  before  he  got  a  job,  and  then  the  very  first 
day  he  met  with  an  accident  at  the  works  and 
had  to  have  his  leg  amputated ;  and  there  he  is 
now,  a  gentleman  for  fife,  comfortably  settled  on 
his  compensation.  Her  people  never  had  luck 
like  that.     It  did  seem  hard  ! 

"  Are  you  awake  ? "  Virginia's  voice  lilted  up 
the  stairs  next  morning. 

Awake !  why,  sleep  had  been  impossible  in 
that  cottage  for  hours  past  I 

For  sheer  undiluted  racket,  commend  me  to 
two  earnest-souled  girls,  who  get  up  early,  and 
go  about  with  a  stealthy  tread  that  creaks  every 
old  board  in  the  place,  and  commune  with  each 
other  in  stage  whispers  that  penetrate  through 

248 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

every  crack  in  the  floor,  all  on  the  pretext  of 
making  the  fire  ! 

We  had  decided  that  we  could  manage  very 
well  ourselves,  without  sending  for  anyone  to 
take  Abigail's  place ;  and  in  order  to  forestall 
me,  the  others  had  got  up  about  cockcrow,  and 
then  began  such  a  whirligig  below,  that  I  just 
lay  still  and  endeavoured  to  allocate  every  fresh 
noise. 

They  raked  and  shovelled  at  the  grate,  and 
appeared  to  be  scattering  cinders  all  over  the 
place.  They  broke  up  applewood  twigs  with 
resounding  snaps,  and  argued  as  to  the  amount 
required  to  set  the  fire  going.  Ursula  said  you 
ought  to  put  in  handfuls  till  you  got  a  good 
crackling  blaze;  Virginia  said  that  was  a 
childish,  brainless  way  of  doing  it,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  chance  of  waste ;  by  rights  the 
quantity  of  twigs  employed  ought  to  be  strictly 
in  inverse  ratio  to  the  quantity  of  inflammable 
gas  contained  in  the  coal.  I  dare  say  I  should 
have  heard  a  good  deal  more  as  to  the  way  to 
assess  the  ignitable  quality  of  coal,  but  fortu- 
nately the  fire  burnt  up  quickly,  and  they  gave 
their  attention  to  other  domestic  details. 

They  dashed  about  the  brass  fender ;  they 
whacked  the  blacklead  brush  against  the  oven- 
door  at  every  turn  ;  they  set  down  the  zinc  pail 
with  a  ringing  thud,  and  then  scoured  the  hearth 
with  zeal  enough  to  take  off  half  an  inch  of  stone 

249  R  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

surface ;  they  polished  the  brass  fire-irons  with 
some  concoction  of  bath-brick  and  salt  which 
they  invented  on  the  spot,  as  they  couldn't  find 
any  metal  polish ;  they  banged  the  hearthrug 
out  of  doors  till  the  surrounding  hiUs  rever- 
berated with  the  echoes ;  they  rinked  the  carpet- 
sweeper  up  and  down  till  it  made  me  dizzy  to 
listen ;  and  as  this  was  not  thorough  enough 
for  Ursula,  she  also  got  a  short  stiff  brush  and 
apparently  pommelled  out  any  dust  that  might 
be  under  the  settle  and  in  other  obscure 
corners ;  they  dusted  with  equal  energy,  and 
then  went  off  into  the  kitchen  to  consult  about 
the  breakfast  menu,  while  the  kettle  chose  the 
opportunity  to  boil  all  over  the  fire,  thereby 
raising  clouds  of  white  ash  that  settled  on 
everything,  and  they  said,  "  Oh,  dear  !  Just 
look  at  it." 

Finally,  I  heard  the  white  cloth  being  flapped 
over  the  table ;  cups  and  saucers  and  plates  were 
chinked  and  rattled  off  the  dresser ;  knives  and 
forks  and  spoons  jingled  on  to  the  table,  and  I 
knew  that  breakfast  was  well  under  way.  It 
was  just  then  that  Virginia  put  her  head  through 
the  staircase-door  to  ask — in  moderated  tones 
calculated  not  to  disturb  me  should  I  still  be 
slumbering  ! — was  I  awake  ? 

Hastily  hopping  out  on  to  the  rug,  I  repHed 
that  I  was  "  nearly  dressed,  and  would  be  down 
in  a  minute." 

250 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

"No  hurry,"  she  repHed  artlessly,  "we've 
only  just  come  down  ourselves,  and  are  going  to 
see  to  breakfast.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is : 
Where  do  you  keep  your  frying-pan  ?  " 

"  Hanging  on  its  proper  nail  in  the  kitchen," 
1  replied. 

"  Well,  it  isn't  there  .  .  .  No,  it  isn't  on  the 
saucepan  shelf,  either — we've  hunted  everywhere. 
.  .  .  But  Abigail  didn't  use  it  yesterday — don't 
you  remember  ?  We  had  boiled  eggs,  and 
some  of  that  cold  ham  we  brought  with  us. 
.  .  .  All  right,  we  can  just  as  well  have  eggs 
again.  .  .  That's  true,  we  shan't  want  bacon, 
with  that  pork  coming  for  dinner ;  but  be  quick, 
as  the  kettle's  boiling  now.  .  .  Oh,  it's  not  a  bit 
of  trouble." 

Whether  it  was  due  to  the  sunshine,  or  to 
the  tonic  of  the  air,  or  to  the  virtuous  feeling 
that  always  overtakes  those  who  get  up  early  in 
the  morning  and  disturb  everyone  else,  I  cannot 
say ;  but  at  any  rate  Ursula  announced  that  she 
intended  to  start  right  in,  immediately  after 
breakfast,  and  give  the  whole  cottage  a  thorough 
spring  cleaning. 

The  domesticities  of  the  morning  seemed  to 
have  whetted  her  appetite  for  such  matters,  and 
she  said  she  felt  she  must  give  the  place  a 
"  Dutch "  turn-out,  and  have  every  shelf  and 
stool  and  all  the  pots    and  pans  scrubbed  and 

251 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

scoured  and  tilted  out  of  doors  to  dry,  as  they 
do  in  Holland. 

Virginia  said  that  she,  too,  felt  a  strong  force 
— it  might  be  her  sub-conscious  self,  or  she  might 
have  a  dual  personaUty,  she  couldn't  say  which — 
within  her,  impelling  her  to  turn  the  house  inside 
out. 

So  I  told  them  to  go  ahead  ;  I'm  the  last  one 
to  discourage  anyone  from  doing  my  work  for 
me.  I  suggested,  however,  that  for  the  first  day 
they  should  confine  their  attentions  to  the  hving- 
rooms  downstairs. 

Of  course,  the  reader  of  average  intellect  will 
wonder  what  necessity  there  could  be  for  any 
such  upheaval,  seeing  that  the  place  would 
obviously  have  been  overhauled  before  we 
arrived ;  but  this  brings  me  back  to  Mrs. 
Widow.  "  A  worthy  body  and  an  honest  soul," 
the  Rector  said,  when  he  originally  recommended 
her  to  me,  all  of  which  was  quite  true ;  but,  alas, 
thoroughness  in  regard  to  house-cleaning  is  not 
her  strong  point. 

When  I  first  sought  her  out  and  broached 
the  subject  of  the  caretaker  I  was  requiring,  she 
listened  in  a  non-committal  way.  I  stated  how 
much  a  year  I  was  willing  to  pay — naming  an 
exceptionally  good  sum — and  explained  that  for 
this  money  the  house  must  be  looked  after  in  my 
absence,  and  be  got  quite  ready  for  me  whenever 
I  should  come  down,  while  anything  she  might 

252 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

do  while  I  was  "  in  residence  "  would  be  paid  for 
as  an  extra. 

She  showed  no  indecorous  haste  to  secure  the 
appointment.  She  merely  said  she  would  talk 
it  over  with  her  married  daughter,  and  if  she 
thought  any  more  of  it  she  would  let  me  know. 
A  few  hours  later  she  came  to  me,  and  said 
casually  that  on  second  thoughts  she  didn't  mind 
obliging  me.  (No  one  ever  "  works  "  for  you  in 
our  village,  they  merely  "  obhge.")  In  the 
interval,  however,  the  whole  village  had  gone 
into  committee  on  the  subject,  and  everyone's 
advice  had  been  sought,  and  very  freely  given. 

Once  more  I  went  through  the  terms  of  the 
agreement,  and  she  said  she  quite  understood. 
Nevertheless,  subsequent  events  led  me  to  beUeve 
that  she  regarded  the  annual  wage  in  the  light 
of  a  retaining  fee  only,  since  most  of  the  work 
is  always  left  to  be  done  after  I  arrive,  when 
it  will  have  to  be  paid  for  as  a  separate  trans- 
action if  it  is  more  than  Abigail  can  wrestle 
with. 

At  the  same  time  I  can  truly  endorse  the 
Rector's  tribute  to  her  honesty.  If  I  were  to 
strew  the  floor  with  sovereigns  or  diamond 
rings,  I  know  I  should  find  them  on  the  mantel- 
piece when  next  I  returned,  and  she  never 
annexes  anything  permanently. 

But  the  fact  that  one  has  a  village-wide 
reputation   for   honesty  need  not  detract  from 

253 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

one's  worldly  prosperity — so  long  as  one  can 
borrow  with  light-hearted  frequency,  and  borrow 
for  indefinite  periods,  too !  Mrs.  Widow  has 
reduced  borrowing  to  a  fine  art,  but  her  honesty 
is  demonstrated  by  the  fact  that  I  have  never 
known  her  decline  to  return  any  of  my  posses- 
sions ;  indeed,  so  scrupulous  is  she  that  she  will 
bring  back  the  tin  of  metal  poUsh,  when  it  is 
empty,  explaining  that  she  was  quite  sure  I 
wanted  it  to  be  used  rather  than  wasted  I 

Abigail  invariably  spends  the  first  couple  of 
days  at  the  cottage  in  skirmishing  and  reclaiming 
missing  articles.  Knowing  all  this,  I  was  not 
surprised  when  I  heard  the  frying-pan  was 
minus ;  I  also  knew  that  time  would  reveal 
other  vacancies. 

Had  it  been  July  or  August,  the  preserving- 
pan — a  family  treasure — would  have  been  gone, 
too.  Mrs.  Widow  is  always  very  solicitous  for 
its  welfare  about  fruit-gathering  time ;  she  says 
damp  would  easily  hurt  a  really  good  preserving- 
pan,  so  she  takes  it  home  with  her  to  keep  it  dry. 
Yet  the  poor  thing  will  be  left  to  face  the 
winter  in  my  kitchen  with  never  a  thought 
bestowed  on  its  deUcate  constitution. 

And  it  is  just  at  jam-making  time,  too, 
that  my  kitchen  scales  and  weights  require  the 
ameliorated  atmosphere  of  Mrs.  Widow's  cottage ; 
my  own  kitchen,  with  the  midsummer  sun  upon 
it  all  day,  being  obviously  far  too  cold  and  damp 

254 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

for  such  highly-strung  bric-a-brac  as  one  pound 
and  half-pound  weights. 

A  town  acquaintance  once  said  to  Virginia : 
"  I  suppose  Miss  Klickmann  goes  down  to  her 
cottage  for  poetic  and  literary  inspiration  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  ! "  was  the  reply.  "  She  simply 
goes  down,  as  a  mere  matter  of  feminine  curiosity, 
to  see  what  is  left." 

"  Where  do  you  keep  your  tea-towels  ? " 
Ursula  began,  as  she  prepared  to  wash  up  the 
breakfast  things. 

"There  ought  to  be  a  pile  in  one  of  the 
drawers  of  the  kitchen  table,"  I  said.  "  They 
are  not  there  ?  Oh,  well,  they'll  come  back 
presently  ! " 

While  we  were  speaking,  a  small  girl  appeared 
at  the  side  door,  holding  in  one  hand  a  basket 
containing  a  nice  chunk  of  pork  (wrapped  in  one 
of  my  tea-towels),  and  in  the  other  hand  my 
mincing-machine.  This  was  Mrs.  Widow's 
grandchild. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  father's  killed  the  pig, 
and  mother  thought  you  might  hke  just  a  Uttle 
piece  of  griskin,  and  mother's  been  taking  care 
of  the  mincer  so's  it  shan't  get  rusty." 

An  exchange  of  courtesies  having  been 
effected  by  means  of  a  bottle  of  pear-drops,  the 
small  maid  departed  with  her  empty  basket ;  the 
mincer  was  restored  to  its  proper  niche  in  the 

255 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

pantry,  and  we  were  at  least  one  tea-towel  to 
the  good. 

I  might  mention  that  Mrs.  Widow's  married 
daughter  had  recently  acquired  considerable 
local  fame  by  making  "  faggots,"  which  were  in 
great  demand.  You  know  the  dish  ? — a  com- 
bination of  liver,  pork,  sage  and  onions,  etc., 
baked  in  squares.  Other  people  in  the  district 
made  faggots,  too,  but  none  could  rival  hers, 
and  orders  came  to  her  from  many  of  the  big 
houses. 

"  No  one  ever  manages  to  get  them  chopped 
so  beautifully  fine  as  she  does,"  said  Miss 
Bretherton  when  recommending  them  to  my 
notice.     "  I  advise  you  to  try  them." 

Still,  whatever  obligation  there  may  have 
been  was  offset,  surely,  by  the  piece  of  pork. 
The  griskin  is  the  lean  portion  of  some  part  of 
the  quadruped's  anatomy  after  the  fat  has  been 
cut  off  for  curing.  This  joint — which  we  never 
see  in  London — is  always  popular  with  us  in  the 
country  ;  so  popular,  that  I  had  ordered  a  piece 
only  the  day  before  from  the  butcher.  It  was 
just  the  season  when  people  were  killing  their 
pigs,  and  the  butcher  had  suggested  griskin. 
Still,  it  was  easy  to  put  the  extra  piece  in  salt, 
and  the  flavour  would  only  be  improved  thereby  ; 
my  one  regret  was  that  the  butcher  had  sent  a 
very  large  joint,  when  I  had  particularly  men- 
tioned that  I  only  wanted  a  little  piece. 

256 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

I  had  originally  intended  to  devote  the  day 
to  gardening,  not  to  house- cleaning. 

"  Of  course  you  keep  a  permanent  gardener  ?  " 
people  inquire  of  me.  "  I  see  ;  a  general  handy 
man ;  it  comes  to  the  same  thing ;  he  will  save 
you  all  trouble." 

Those  of  my  acquaintances  who  have  never 
had  a  place  out  of  town  to  look  after,  always 
conclude  that  country  districts  fairly  bristle  with 
capable,  willing  men,  and  poor-but-honest,  hard- 
working women,  all  of  them  anxious  to  do  my 
work  —  and  at  a  merely  nominal  wage  too ; 
whereas  one  has  the  utmost  trouble  to  get 
either  man  or  woman  to  do  a  day's  work  at  any 
price.  I  pay  the  handy  man  the  same  wage  per 
day  as  I  pay  my  thoroughly  experienced  London 
gardener  ;  and  he  can  only  manage  to  spare  me 
a  small  amount  of  his  time  at  that  price. 

He  knows  very  little  about  flowers,  but  he 
weeds  in  an  enhghtened  manner,  and  he  under- 
stands the  elementary  principles  underlying 
vegetable  growing  on  a  small  scale.  For  the 
most  part  the  villagers  bother  very  httle  about 
their  gardens,  only  cultivating  just  sufficient 
ground  for  their  immediate  needs. 

The  unenlightened  local  method  of  dealing 
with  weeds  is  this.  He-who-is-paid-to-garden 
leaves  them  to  grow  to  a  fair  height — especially 
if  no  one  is  Ukely  to  be  there  for  some  weeks  to 
see  them.     Then,  when  they  have  absorbed  a 

257 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

generous  amount  of  nourishment  from  the 
ground,  and  generally  suffocated  everything 
small  within  their  reach,  he  merely  turns  the 
soil  over,  with  the  weeds  on  the  underneath  side, 
draws  a  rake  over  the  surface,  and  presto  !  you 
have  a  nice  tidy  bed. 

This  method  is  known  as  "  digging  in." 

Of  course,  in  twenty-four  hours  the  good- 
natured  things  start  to  poke  cheerful  noses 
through  the  soil  again.  But  that  doesn't  matter. 
Life  is  long,  and  the  gardener  is  paid  to  clear 
them  away  again. 

There  is  an  optional  method,  referred  to  as 
"  cleaning  up  the  beds."  In  that  case,  he  leaves 
the  weeds  to  grow  higher,  more  especially  in 
beds  that  are  full  of  promising  seedHngs  ;  in  fact, 
he  doesn't  worry  about  them  at  aU  until  there  is 
sudden  and  urgent  reason  why  the  garden  should 
present  a  kempt,  well-cared-for  appearance. 

Then,  the  weeds  being  so  healthy  and  luxuriant 
that  they  would  raise  the  face  of  creation  a 
couple  of  inches  if  he  attempted  to  dig  them  in, 
he  simplifies  matters  by  removing  the  surface  of 
the  earth,  weeds  and  seedlings  and  all ;  this  he 
wheels  away  in  a  barrow,  perchance  to  lay  it 
down  on  some  rough  and  rubbly  bit  of  lane  that 
the  road-menders  have  ignored. 

When  she-who-pays  arrives,  all  expectation, 
and  inquires  for  the  missing  seedlings,  the  tiller 
of  the  soil  shakes   his  head   lugubriously,   and 

258 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

refers  to  the  recent  plague  of  slugs  (or  thunder- 
storms, or  frost,  or  east  winds,  or  whatever  other 
natural  phenomena  seem  most  convincing),  and 
says  he  had  a  hard  job  to  save  what  is  left  in  the 
garden — this  last  in  a  martyr-like  tone  of  voice, 
indicating  that  though  all  his  self-sacrificing 
labour  is  passed  over  unrecognised,  he  himself 
has  the  virtuous  consciousness  of  having  at  least 
done  his  simple  duty,  and  what  man  can  do  more  I 

Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  there  are  many 
different  ways  of  gardening ;  that  must  be  why 
it  is  always  interesting  to  go  round  the  garden 
with  the  gardener.  When  I  say  different 
ways,  I  don't  mean  such  trifling  divergencies 
of  method  as  landscape  gardens  versus  intensive 
culture,  or  tomatoes  under  glass  versus  gloxinias. 
These  primarily  concern  the  pocket ;  the  differ- 
ences that  interest  me  are  temperamental. 

There  is  Miss  Bretherton,  for  instance,  a 
most  diligent  and  vigilant  gardener.  And  yet 
she  never  seems  to  me  to  get  much  genuine, 
unalloyed  pleasure  out  of  her  garden  ;  she  never 
basks  in  its  beauty — though  for  the  matter  of 
that  Miss  Bretherton  never  basks  anywhere  I  A 
middle-aged  woman  who  does  her  duty  by  a 
scattered  parish,  conscientiously  and  thoroughly 
and  unremittingly,  never  has  time  for  that  sort 
of  dissipation  !  Miss  Bretherton  deals  with  her 
garden  much  as  she  deals  with  the  parish.  At 
best  it  is  a  case  of  striving  to  lead  reluctant  feet 

259 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

in  the  paths  of  virtue,  while  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  her  efforts  is  an  unflagging  wrestle  with 
original  sin. 

A  walk  round  the  rectory  garden  is  usually 
like  this.  Miss  Bretherton  always  picks  up  a  pair 
of  gardening  scissors  and  a  basket  mechanically 
as  she  steps  out. 

"  What  a  wonderful  glow  of  colour ! "  I 
exclaim,  as  I  bury  my  nose  in  a  magnificent 
Gloire  de  Dijon. 

"  But  it  is  such  a  wretched  thing  for  sending 
up  suckers,"  Miss  Bretherton  replies.  "  I'm 
always  digging  them  up.  Why,  I  declare  there 
is  one  a  foot  high,"  giving  it  a  drastic  prod  with 
the  scissors.  "  I  thought  I'd  cut  them  all  away 
yesterday  " ;  more  prods  till  the  sucker  is  finally 
unearthed. 

"  And  aren't  those  hollyhocks  tall !  " 

"  Not  nearly  so  fine  as  they  would  have  been 
if  that  red-spotty  blight  hadn't  attacked  them. 
Just  look  at  these  leaves  I  " 

Snip,  snip,  snip  I     Off  came  a  dozen  or  so. 

I  stop  to  admire  the  fairy  flowers  in  the 
Virginia  stock,  rosy  carmine,  lemon  and  mauve, 
just  opening  in  the  sun. 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  anything  sweeter  for 
a  border,"  I  remark. 

"  The  trouble  with  Virginia  stock  is  that  it 
so  soon  looks  untidy,"  Miss  Bretherton  says 
dispiritedly.     "  Do  what  I  will,  I  can't  keep  the 

260 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

edges  tidy  once  that  goes  off  bloom.  I  pull  it 
all  out  at  last,  and  then  that  leaves  a  bare  rough- 
dried  looking  space  with  nothing  in  it."     ' 

I  praise  the  white  lilies — such  a  stately  row 
of  spotless  beauty. 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  hide  that 
raggedness  at  the  bottom  of  the  stems.  They  do 
look  so  shabby.  Excuse  me,  I  see  that  Canter- 
bury bell  has  withered  off — that's  the  worst  of 
them.  They  all  go  at  once  so  suddenly,  and  look 
such  a  withered  mass.  I  must  cut  off  those  dead 
blooms,  it  may  send  up  a  second  crop.  But 
there,  if  it  does,  they  will  only  be  small  bells  I  " 

I'm  not  sure  whether  the  handy  man's  method 
is  temperamental,  but  I  know  it  is  very  conver- 
sational, if  you  can  call  it  a  conversation  when 
he  insists  on  doing  the  whole  of  it  himself.  He 
is  an  elderly  bachelor ;  and  Mrs.  Widow  once 
explained  the  situation  to  me  : 

"  You  see,  he  ain't  never  had  no  wife  to  talk 
his  head  off  for  him,  so  he  talks  it  off  for  hisself." 

I  give  him  copious  instructions  whenever  I 
leave,  which  he  promises  to  carry  out;  but  no 
matter  what  I  may  have  asked  him  to  do — 
whether  it  was  to  nail  up  the  yellow  roses  over 
the  front  door,  or  to  set  lavender  cuttings — it 
all  works  out  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end : 
it  is  only  the  vegetables  that  are  deemed  worthy 
of    mention.      The    flowers   are  just  tolerated 

261 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

because — well,  because  I  keep  on  putting  them 
in  the  ground,  and  you  can't  expect  practical 
common-sense  from  a  woman  anyhow  !  But 
after  all,  it  isn't  reasonable  to  expect  an  un- 
trained cottager  to  make  a  garden  different  from 
those  he  sees  around. 

You  can  understand,  however,  that  we  are 
usually  kept  pretty  busy  from  the  moment  we 
arrive  till  the  hour  we  go  away. 

But  this  particular  morning  gardening  was 
out  of  the  question.  The  two  girls  started  with 
the  spring-cleaning  on  most  vigorous  lines. 
Virginia  said  the  hygienic  way  was  to  place 
everything  that  was  movable  out-of-doors,  so 
that,  scientifically  speaking,  the  sun's  rays  could 
penetrate  every  fibre  and  tissue,  and  neutralise 
the  harmful  germs  that  would  assuredly  be 
lurking  by  the  million  in  every  stick  and  shred 
in  a  house  as  neglected  as  that  one  had  been. 

I  objected  to  my  cherished  possessions  being 
referred  to  as  sticks  and  shreds,  and  I  said  so, 
with  emphasis. 

Ursula  said  if  we  were  going  to  argue  at  that 
length  it  would  be  the  August  Bank  Holiday 
before  we  got  things  back  in  their  place  again. 
For  her  part,  she  regarded  all  that  germ-business 
as  a  harmless  fairy-tale  that  was  very  suitable 
and  safe  reading  for  a  mild  intellect  like  Virginia's. 
All  the  same,  she  quite  agreed  that  everything 
ought  to  be  put   outside,  so  as  to  give  more 

262 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

elbow-room  indoors  ;  moreover,  things  that  were 
washed  and  scrubbed  would,  of  course,  dry 
quicker  in  the  sun. 

So  out  they  all  came  ! 

Then  we  saw  how  badly  the  boards  around 
the  carpet  needed  re-staining,  and  we  dispatched 
Virginia  to  the  village  to  see  what  she  could  get 
in  the  way  of  oak  or  walnut  floor-stain. 

She  returned  with  a  large  bottle  of  rheumatic 
lotion.  Miss  Jarvis,  who  keeps  the  village  shop, 
hadn't  a  bottle  of  stain  left,  but  Virginia  turned 
over  everything  she  had  and  decided  on  the 
lotion,  as  it  was  thickish  and  a  nice  rich  brown. 
She  bore  it  off.  Miss  Jarvis  beseeching  her  to 
remember  it  was  for  outward  appUcation  only. 

It  wasn't  bad,  only  it  flavoured  the  air  rather 
strongly  for  days. 

Ursula's  labours  were  bearing  much  fruit. 
To  look  at  the  scene  outside  the  cottage,  you 
might  have  thought  a  distraint  had  been  made 
on  the  contents  for  rent.  Chairs,  tables,  meat- 
safes,  crockery,  saucepans,  oak  chests,  pictures, 
books,  the  warming-pan,  brass  candlesticks, 
coal-scuttles,  fenders,  were  all  basking  un- 
blushingly,  and  in  the  direst  confiision,  in  the 
sunshine. 

What  pained  me  most  was  to  notice  how  the 
furniture  that  had  looked  delightfully  appropriate 
in  the  subdued  Ughts  of  indoors,  became  appal- 
lingly shabby  when  subjected   to   the   glare  of 

263  s 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

day.  I  remarked  that  if  I  had  confronted  the 
things  on  a  London  burglar's  barrow,  I  should 
neither  have  recognised  them  nor  have  desired 
to  claim  them. 

Ursula  tried  to  reassure  me  by  reminding 
me  that  the  things  were  mostly  very  old,  and 
antique  things  are  invariably  shabby  as  well  as 
very  valuable.  Virginia  contributed  the  con- 
soUng  information  that  she  had  noticed,  whenever 
people  moved,  they  always  left  their  good 
furniture  behind  in  the  empty  house,  for  they 
only  removed  shabby-looking  things. 

I  tried  to  feel  duly  proud  of  my  possessions 
once  more  ;  but  all  the  same  I  suggested  that 
we  should  hurry  on  as  fast  as  we  could  ;  I  had  a 
strong  conviction  that  if  any  of  my  county 
neighbours  called,  they  would  probably  be 
more  impressed  with  the  disreputable  appear- 
ance of  my  belongings  than  with  their  priceless 
antiquity. 

Of  course,  people  came  while  we  were  still  in 
chaos,  as  I  knew  they  would.  The  first  to  arrive 
was  Miss  Primkins,  who  apologised  for  calling 
at  such  an  hour,  but  she  wanted  to  consult  me 
on  a  private  matter,  she  was  so  very  worried. 
Was  I  busy?  (with  an  inquiring  glance  at  the 
all-pervading  marine-store).  Naturally  I  said 
I  wasn't. 

The  difficulty  was  to  find  a  seat  indoors  to 
accommodate   us   while    we    talked ;    it   wasn't 

264 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

warm  enough,  as  yet,  to  sit  in  the  open.  I 
found  two  chairs  in  the  china  pantry — a  fair- 
sized  apartment  with  a  big  window,  even 
though  it  is  called  a  pantry  —  and  here  we 
estabhshed  ourselves.  Miss  Primkins  reiterating 
how  kind  she  thought  it  of  me  to  receive  her 
in  this  homely  way,  treating  her  just  like  one  of 
the  family.  I  tried  to  make  her  understand, 
however,  that,  as  a  general  rule,  it  was  not  the 
family  custom  to  foregather  in  the  crockery 
cupboard ! 

She  was  a  long  while  getting  to  the  cause  of 
her  worry.  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  so  many 
women,  when  they  start  out  to  say  anything, 
wander  about  and  deviate  into  innumerable  side 
channels  and  backwaters  before  they  get  to  the 
point  ? — but  there,  I  do  myself,  so  we  won't 
follow  up  that  line  of  thought. 

Eventually,  it  transpired  that  when  war  was 
declared,  and  the  attendant  moratorium,  Miss 
Primkins  had  hidden  away  what  little  gold  she 
had  in  the  bottom  of  a  coffee  canister,  with  the 
coffee  put  in  again  artlessly  on  top.  Since  then 
she  had  added  to  her  store  of  gold,  till  at  last  she 
had  £12  in  all. 

On  hearing  this  I  scented  the  trouble,  and 
began  to  commiserate  :  "  You  don't  mean  to 
say  someone  has  stolen  it !  Who  could  it  have 
been  ? " 

"  Oh,   no ;    it    hasn't    been    stolen — though 
265  s  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

sometimes  I  almost  wish — but  there,  I  oughtn't 
to  say  that !  No,  the  difficulty  is  that  now  I 
don't  know  how  to  get  rid  of  it  I  I  never 
thought  there  was  any  harm  in  putting  a  Httle 
by,  in  case  anything  happened,  till  I  saw  in  the 
papers  that  someone  said"  (lowering  her  voice) 
"that  those  who  hoard  gold  are  traitors  to 
their  country,  and"  (in  a  still  more  shocked 
tone)  "  actually  helping  Germany  !  I'd  never 
had  any  such  idea !  Why,  it's  the  very  last 
thing  I  should  wish  to  do  I 

"  So  I  started  unhoarding  at  once  and  took  a 
sovereign  when  next  I  went  out  to  pay  my  little 
grocery  bill.  Miss  Jarvis  wasn't  in  the  shop 
herself — she  wouldn't  have  been  so  rude  ! — but 
her  assistant  said,  *  Well,  I  never  !  Doesn't  it 
seem  odd  to  see  a  sovereign  again  !  I  can't  tell 
you  when  I  saw  one  last.  I  didn't  know  there 
was  a  solitary  one  left  in  the  village  !  Wherever 
did  you  get  it  from.  Miss  Primkins  ? ' 

"  Do  you  know,  I  went  hot  and  cold  all  over ; 
didn't  know  what  to  do  with  myself,  for  fear  she 
should  guess  I'd  been  hoarding  and  helping  the 
country  to  be  a  traitor — no,  I  mean  helping 
Germany  to  be — well — you  understand.  I  just 
said  quietly,  with  all  the  composure  I  could 
muster,  '  I  chanced  to  have  it  in  my  purse,' 
because,  after  all,  it  wasn't  her  business, 
was  it  ? " 

I  agreed  that  it  wasn't. 
266 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

"  Then  1  thought  I  would  change  half  a 
sovereign — that  would  be  smaller  and  look  less 
hoardingish — at  the  station,  as  I  was  going  into 
Chepstow  to  get  some  more  wool  for  those  socks 
for  Queen  Mary.  Would  you  believe  it  ? — the 
station  -  master  said  —  you  know  his  jocular 
way — '  Why,  Miss  Primkins,  what  bank  have 
you  been  robbing  ?  I  haven't  had  my  hand 
crossed  with  gold,  I  don't  know  when !  I'd 
like  to  keep  it  myself,  for  luck,  only  the  Prime 
Minister  would  be  down  on  me  for  hoarding,  1 
suppose.' 

"  My  knees  shook  so  I  could  hardly  get  into 
the  train.  I  decided  I  wouldn't  let  anyone  see 
another  bit  of  it ;  yet  actually,  when  I  was  in 
Mrs.  Davis's  shop  and  getting  out  the  money  to 
pay  for  the  wool,  if  I  didn't  take  out  another 
half-sovereign  in  mistake  for  a  sixpence  ! — I  was 
so  unnerved,  I  suppose — and  she  said,  '  Just 
fancy  seeing  a  half-sovereign  again  !  I  thought 
they  were  all  called  in.  Wherever  did  you 
light  on  that,  Miss  Primkins  ? ' 

"Now  you  can  understand  I'm  at  my  wits' 
end  to  know  what  to  do  v^dth  that  money.  I 
can't  spend  it  without  everyone  knowing.  If  I 
put  it  in  my  savings  bank  book,  and  so  get  it 
back  to  the  Government  that  way,  I  have  to 
hand  it  over  the  counter  at  the  post  office.  You 
know  so  much  about  business,  can  you  suggest 
anything  ?  " 

267 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

I  immediately  offered  to  give  the  nervous, 
worried  lady  Treasury  notes  in  exchange. 

"  Oh,  but  I  couldn't  let  you  incriminate 
yourself  like  that,"  she  protested,  "kind  as  it 
is  of  you.  There's  your  reputation  as  well  as 
mine  to  be  thought  of" 

I  explained,  however,  that  it  was  easier  to 
dispose  of  an  accusing  golden  sovereign  in 
London  without  arousing  the  suspicions  of  the 
populace  than  it  was  in  the  country,  and  I  said 
I  was  sure  my  bank  manager  would  oblige  me 
by  receiving  the  gold  for  the  good  of  the 
country,  knowing  me  to  be  an  honest  and 
respectable  Enghshwoman. 

"  I  never  thought  to  be  so  thankful  to  see 
the  last  of  a  sovereign,"  she  said,  as  she  tucked 
the  paper  notes  into  her  handbag.  "I've 
scarcely  slept  all  this  week.  Why,  Germany 
is  the  very  last  thing  I  would  help  ! " 

Mrs.  Widow  came  in  at  the  gate  as  Miss 
Primkins  went  out;  and,  seeing  the  house  all 
turned  out  of  windows,  looked  her  surprise  at 
such  goings  on  1  She  carried  a  frying-pan, 
a  long-handled  broom,  a  double  milk-boiler,  an 
egg-beater,  and  a  lemon-squeezer,  and  explained 
that  they  had  kept  beautifully  dry  in  her  kitchen, 
whereas  they  would  have  been  ruined  if  left  to 
get  damp  in  an  empty  house.  Parenthetically, 
she  hoped  I  would  excuse  her  having  used  half 
a  dozen  lemons  I  had  left  in  the  pantry  last 

268 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

time ;  she  was  afraid  they  would  not  keep  ;  also 
some  sugar  in  a  tin,  that  she  dare  say  might  have 
melted  away — and  it  seemed  cruel  to  waste  it 
considering  the  price  of  sugar. 

Of  course  I  said  she  was  quite  welcome. 

And,  by  the  way,  was  I  wanting  a  jar  of 
lemon  curd  ?  Her  daughter  had  made  some 
that  was  really  lovely,  and  she  would  not  mind 
obliging  me  by  selling  me  a  jar. 

While  she  was  describing  the  distinctive 
merits  of  the  lemon  curd,  and  relating  what 
the  lady  of  the  manor  had  said  in  praise  of 
the  jar  she  had  purchased,  a  man-servant  arrived 
from  the  Manor  House  with  a  note  and  a  basket, 
which  he  handed  to  me  (with  a  very  superior  air 
that  gave  me  to  understand  he  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  carrying  baskets,  and  was  only  doing 
so  now  as  a  patriotic  act  in  war  time)  across 
the  kitchen  table  that  stood  in  the  path  and 
blocked  his  further  progress.  While  I  read  the 
note,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  his  boots,  and 
apparently  looked  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor 
to  the  left ;  yet  I  know  that  he  catalogued 
every  item  of  those  wretched  domestic  odd- 
ments that  were  decorating  the  lawn  and  garden 
path. 

Mrs.  Widow,  possessed  of  a  natural  curiosity 
that  it  is  hard  to  circumvent,  was  loath  to  leave 
without  a  glimpse  of  the  contents  of  the  basket. 
But  Virginia  got  her  off  by  escorting  her  to  the 

269 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

gate,  and  telling  her  that  I  had  not  been  very 
well  in  town. 

"  Ah !  anybody  could  see  that,  miss,"  said 
Mrs.  Widow  feehngly,  glancing  in  my  direction. 
"  Don't  she  just  look  'aggard  !  "  And  then, 
seeing  a  look  of  surprise  on  the  face  of  Virginia 
— who  distinctly  resented  my  being  described  as 
haggard — she  added  hurriedly,  "  Leastways,  I 
mean  'andsome  aggard,  of  course,  miss." 

The  lady  of  the  manor  had  written  to  say 
that  a  cold  was  keeping  her  indoors  for  a  day  or 
two ;  but  in  the  meanwhile,  as  they  were  busy 
curing  bacon  at  the  home  farm,  she  had  had 
them  cut  just  a  Uttle  piece  of  griskin,  which  she 
was  sure  I  should  Uke,  and  was  having  it  sent  up 
at  once,  etc. 

The  superior  person  left,  carrying  in  one 
hand  an  envelope  addressed  to  his  mistress, 
which  contained  all  the  thanks  I  could  muster, 
and  in  the  other  a  note  to  be  left  at  the  village 
shop,  asking  Miss  Jarvis  to  send  me  up  a  large 
block  of  salt. 

"  What  shall  you  do  with  all  the  pork  ? " 
Ursula  inquired. 

"  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  !  "  I  said.  "  I 
can't  bestow  any  of  it  on  the  poor  because,  no 
matter  which  piece  I  gave  away,  Mrs.  Widow's 
married  daughter  would  be  sure  it  was  her  gift  I 
had  spurned,  and  would  feel  duly  slighted." 

270 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

Virginia  broke  in  upon  us  breathlessly,  her 
arms  full  of  pasteboard,  soup  tureen,  hearthrug, 
hassock,  and  fire-irons,  which  she  had  hastily 
gathered  up  from  the  path.  "The  Rector's 
outside  in  the  lane  talking  to  some  children." 

"  And  has  he  any  basket  in  his  hand  ?  "  asked 
Ursula. 

**  No,  he  only  appears  to  be  carrying  his 
umbrella." 

"  Thank  goodness  !  "  said  Ursula  fervently,  as 
she  put  the  third  flank  of  griskin  in  the  coldest 
larder. 

By  this  time  the  next  caller  was  coming  up 
the  path,  and  though  I  could  invite  him  to  take 
a  seat  in  one  of  the  armchairs  that  were  now 
inside,  anything  hke  order  had  not  yet  been 
evolved  from  the  chaos. 

The  Rector  is  loved  by  rich  and  poor  alike, 
by  reason  of  his  unselfishness,  his  absolute 
sincerity  and  "  other- worldUness."  He  is  now 
well  on  in  years,  but  neither  distance  nor  weather 
keeps  him  from  visiting  regularly  all  in  his 
wide  -  scattered  parish.  His  calls  are  always 
welcomed,  though  I  admit  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred to  see  him  any  day  other  than  the  one  in 
question. 

"  I  have  come  with  a  message  from  my  niece," 
he  began.  "  She  told  me  to  say  that  she  is 
sending  up  a  small  trifle — a  little  housewifely 
notion  of  hers — for  your  kind  acceptance.     She 

271 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

thought  you  might  find  it  add  a  little  variety  to 
the  cottage  menu.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
rectory  pig  has  gone  the  way  of  most  pigs  !  And 
we  said,  the  moment  we  heard  you  had  arrived, 
that  we  must  get  you  to  sample  the  home-grown 
article,  so  she  is  sending  you  up  just  a  httle  piece 

of Ah,    here    it    is,    I    expect" — as    the 

Rector's  handy  man  came  in  at  the  gate,  carry- 
ing the  inevitable  basket ;  and  though  the 
contents  were  wrapped  up  in  a  spotless  white 
cloth,  there  was  no  need  for  one  to  be  told  what 
he  was  bringing. 

I  tried  to  be  as  truly  grateful  as  ever  I  could ; 
I  told  myself  I  must  not  think  about  the  gift 
itself,  but  must  keep  my  mind  focused  on  the 
kind  thought  that  had  prompted  the  gift.  Never- 
theless, the  basket  seemed  very  heavy  as  I  carried 
it  into  the  larder,  and  added  one  more  joint  to 
the  goodly  collection  already  assembled.  And 
as  I  went  back  into  the  living-room,  I  heard 
Virginia  warbling  outdoors : 

"Not  more  than  others  I  deserve, 
But  Heaven  has  given  me  more." 

There  is  something  singularly  exasperating 
about  other  people's  joyousness,  when  it  is 
purchased  at  one's  own  expense ! 

We  were  restoring  the  last  jug  to  its  proper 
hook  on  the  dresser,  when  once  more  we  saw 

272 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

Miss  Primkins  toiling  up  the  steep  garden 
path. 

She  really  felt  terribly  ashamed  to  be  in- 
truding on  me  again ;  but  she  had  just  read  in 
the  paper  that  the  Prime  Minister  now  said 
everyone  must  save,  and  no  one  who  was  a  true 
patriot  would  spend  more  than  was  absolutely 
necessary.  Now  what  was  the  difference  be- 
tween hoarding  and  saving?  She  did  so  want 
to  do  the  right  thing ;  it  was  so  little  she  could 
do  to  help  her  country.  Yet,  for  the  life  of  her, 
she  couldn't  make  out  whether  she  ought  to  save 
that  £12  or  spend  it. 

Would  I  mind  explaining  it  to  her  ?  She 
never  could  understand  anything  Prime 
Ministers,  or  people  like  that,  said  nowadays ; 
so  different  from  what  it  was  in  her  young  days. 
When  there  was  only  Lord  Salisbury  and  Mr. 
Gladstone  everything  was  so  sensible  and 
straightforward.  Her  father  used  to  say: 
"  Always  believe  Lord  Salisbury ;  never  beUeve 
Mr.  Gladstone  " — or  else  it  was  the  other  way 
round,  she  wasn't  sure  which.  Whereas  now, 
what  with  radicals,  and  coalitions,  and  terri- 
torials, and  boards  of  this,  that,  and  the  other, 
her  brain  almost  gave  way  trying  to  find  out 
who  anybody  was. 

"And  when  at  last  I  think  I've  got  it 
straightened  out,  I  find  there's  a  lot  of  *antis,' 
and  it's  just  the  opposite  thing  they  say  you 

273 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

ought  or  ought  not  to  do ;  or  else  you  have  to 
begin  at  the  other  end  and  work  backwards. 
What  a  lot  those  Germans  have  to  answer  for  !  " 

I  offered  my  own  simple  political  creed  for 
her  guidance :  "  When  the  King  or  Lord 
Kitchener  says  anything,  then  I  know  it's  all 
right.  When  they  hold  their  tongues,  I  know 
it's  equally  all  right ;  and  the  rest  I  don't  worry 
about ! " 

She  said  I  had  expressed  her  own  views 
entirely,  only  she  never  thought  to  put  it  so 
concisely  as  that.  What  a  wonderful  thing  it 
was  to  have  a  brain  like  mine  that  grasped 
things  so  clearly  !  She  should  just  go  on  being 
economical  as  her  mother  had  always  taught  her 
to  be,  until  the  King — or,  possibly.  Queen  Mary 
— said  anything  definite  on  the  subject,  then 
people  would  know  where  they  were. 

"  At  least,  you  aren't  the  only  one  bothered 
about  the  question  of  hoarding,"  I  said.  "I'm 
also  wrestling  with  the  problem.  Look  here," 
and  I  led  the  way  to  the  larder  and  gave  details. 
"I've  been  wondering  whether,  as  I  relieved 
you  of  your  hoard,  you  could  assist  me  out  with 
mine  I  Will  you  accept  a  piece  of  griskin, 
merely  to  get  it  off  my  premises  ? " 

Miss  Primkins  was  almost  tearful  in  her 
thanks.  "  It's  so  strange  you  should  have 
thought  to  offer  this,"  she  said  in  a  sort  of 
broken  hesitation,  "  because  I'm  going  to  Cardiff 

274 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

by  the  first  train  to-morrow  to  see  my  sisters. 
I  always  like  to  take  them  a  little  something, 
you  understand.  They  have  big  families,  and 
business   is   bad   now ;  and,  of  course,  coming 

from  the  country Only  eggs  are  so  dear, 

and  fowls  such  a  price  ;  and  just  now — well,  you 
know — dividends  aren't  coming  in  as  they  did, 
and  I've  my  three  houses  standing  empty,  and 

such  a  big  bill  for  repairs,  and Only,  of 

course,"  rallying  herself,  "  I'm  heaps  better  off 
than  those  poor  Belgians ;  but  oh,  I  can't  tell 
you  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  your  kindness. 
You  see,  I  was  keeping  that  £12  by  me  in  case 
I  should  be  ill — we  never  know,  do  we  ? — or  to 
meet  the  rent  if  I  should  run  short.  Please 
pardon  my  speaking  of  these  things,  only — you 
understand,"  and  the  poor  lady  blushed  to  think 
she  should  have  let  herself  refer  to  finances. 

Yes,  I  understood.  Rumour  had  already 
reached  me  that  Miss  Primkins  had  only  used 
three  hundredweight  of  coal  through  the  whole 
of  the  winter  (of  course,  in  our  village  every- 
body knows  how  much  everybody  else  buys  of 
everything),  and  she  had  been  seen  out  in  the 
woods  gathering  sticks.  She  had  cut  her  milk 
down  to  a  half-pint  a  day,  and  that  was  con- 
sumed by  Rehoboam  (the  cat).  She  seldom  had 
any  meat,  and  practised  aU  sorts  of  pitiful  Uttle 
economies,  living  chiefly  on  the  vegetables  she 
had  grown  in  her  garden.     But  she  never  let 

275 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

anything  interfere  with  a  coin  going  into  the 
Sunday  offertory,  or  her  knitting  for  the  troops  ; 
and  she  gave  a  donation  to  the  Red  Cross  Fund 
as  gladly  as  anyone. 

It  makes  one's  heart  ache  to  think  how  many 
poor  elderly  ladies  there  are  up  and  down  the 
land,  who  have  lost  what  at  best  was  but  a  very 
modest  meed  of  comfort,  in  the  present  financial 
upheaval ;  and  these  have  additional  anxiety  in 
the  fact  that  it  would  be  torture  to  them  were 
their  poverty  paraded  before  the  world.  They 
have  not  the  physical  strength  to  engage  in 
national  work,  though  their  spirits  are  vaUant 
enough  for  any  self-sacrifice.  So,  since  it  is  all 
they  can  do  for  their  country,  they  shoulder 
their  burdens  uncomplainingly,  keeping  a  frail 
body  alive  on  sugarless  tea  and  sparsely-buttered 
bread,  while  they  knit  long,  long  thoughts  into 
socks  and  comforters,  if  by  any  means  they  can 
raise  the  money  to  purchase  the  wool. 

No  Fund  is  large  enough  to  embrace  such  as 
these ;  no  charity  could  ever  meet  their  case. 
All  the  same  they  are  part  of  the  bulwark 
strength  of  England,  these  dear,  faithful  women, 
who  in  old  age  and  feeble  health  hide  their  own 
privations  beneath  a  brave  exterior,  willing  to 
make  any  personal  sacrifice  rather  than  Might 
should  triumph  over  Right. 

"  Miss   Primkins  I "    I    exclaimed,    when    I 
276 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

heard  of  the  Cardiff  visit,  "  I  believe  you're  the 
good  fairy  who,  I  used  to  think,  hved  at  the 
entrance  to  the  waterfall  cave  under  the  hill ; 
and  I'm  certain  you've  been  sent  up  here  for  the 
explicit  purpose  of  relieving  me  of  that  meat ! 
If  you're  going  to  Cardiff,  it's  your  clear  duty  to 
take  a  griskin  to  each  of  your  sisters — hearty- 
eating  boys,  did  you  say  ?  Good !  That  will 
rid  me  of  two  !  Well,  you'll  find  them  at  the 
station  in  the  morning  waiting  for  the  9  o'clock 
train — we'll  do  them  up  to  look  like  hothouse 
grapes  and  pineapples." 

Of  course  she  protested,  but  I  remained 
firm ;  as  I  told  her,  I  wasn't  going  to  let  slip 
such  a  heaven-sent  opportunity  to  get  those 
joints  transported  for  life. 

When  Virginia  and  Ursula  put  them  in  the 
railway  carriage  next  morning,  she  asked  if  they 
would  mind,  as  they  passed  her  house  on  their 
way  home,  seeing  if  they  could  find  Rehoboam ; 
he  hadn't  come  back  for  his  milk,  and  she 
couldn't  wait  for  him.  They  would  find  the 
door-key  under  the  fourth  flower-pot  on  the  right 
hand  window-sill ;  and  if  he  was  waiting  on  the 
step  (his  usual  custom  about  half-past  nine) 
would  they  be  so  kind  as  to  give  him  the  milk 
that  was  in  the  larder?  Then  she  need  not 
worry  any  more  about  him. 

They  found  Rehoboam  as  per  schedule,  and 

277 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

gave  him  the  milk.  They  couldn't  help  seeing 
that  there  was  only  a  small  piece  of  cold  suet 
pudding,  a  little  blackberry  jam,  and  one  thin 
slice  of  bacon  in  the  larder. 

When  they  got  back  we  set  to  work  on  a 
cooking  crusade ;  and  isn't  there  a  delightful 
sense  of  freedom  when  you  can  do  what  you  like 
in  your  own  kitchen,  with  no  Abigail  over- 
sighting  your  operations  I  We  cooked  some 
griskin,  and  made  pastry  and  cakes,  and  put 
some  eggs  into  pickle.  (Do  you  know  these  ? 
hard-boiled  eggs  shelled  when  cold  and  put  into 
pickle  vinegar ;  ready  in  a  couple  of  days.) 

Then  when  it  got  to  within  an  hour  of  train 
time,  the  girls  went  down  and  lit  Miss  Primkins' 
fire,  taking  down  a  scuttle  of  coals  for  the 
purpose ;  her  outside  coal-cellar  being  locked 
fortunately  gave  us  an  excuse  for  not  using  up 
hers.  They  also  took  some  milk,  three  of  my 
finest  potatoes,  and  other  things. 

By  the  time  the  train  arrived,  and  Miss 
Primkins  was  on  a  tired  homeward  walk,  the 
kettle  was  singing  on  the  hob ;  three  floury 
potatoes — strained,  but  keeping  hot  in  the  sauce- 
pan— stood  beside  the  kettle ;  the  supper  table 
was  laid  with  cold  griskin,  a  jam  tart,  and  a 
small  spice  cake,  while  in  the  larder  stood  two 
sausage-rolls,  a  seed  cake,  and  a  jar  containing 
three  eggs  in  course  of  pickhng. 

Of  course  the  girls  couldn't  resist  ticketing 
278 


Just  a  Little 
Piece  of  Griskin 

the  things  "  Virginia  made  this,  so  be  cautious  ! 
(Signed)  Ursula,"  and  similar  nonsense,  hoping 
thereby  to  divert  JNliss  Primkins  from  the  bald 
truth,  viz.,  that  we  were  trying  to  smuggle 
something  into  a  bare  cupboard  ! 

Then,  after  rounding  up  Rehoboam,  and 
placing  him  on  the  hearthrug  to  give  an  air  of 
social  welcome,  they  locked  the  door,  putting 
the  key  under  the  fourth  flower-pot,  and  skipped 
up  the  hill  again  by  the  woodland  path,  as  Miss 
Primkins  turned  into  her  Uttle  garden  gate. 


279 


XIII 

When  the  Surgeon 

Crossed  the  Hills 

Of  course,  it  seemed  ridiculous  for  a  sane  and 
moderately  well  brought-up  individual  to  dress 
herself  to  go  out — and  in  a  new  hat,  too — and, 
then,  simply  because  her  dog  happened  to  tumble 
out  of  the  window,  to  collapse  on  the  hearthrug 
like  an  anaemic  concertina,  while  she  draped  her 
head  gracefully  over  the  fender,  with  the  plumes 
of  the  said  new  hat  resting  resignedly  on  the 
fire-irons. 

It  didn't  seem  quite  reasonable  to  want  to 
go  to  sleep  Hke  that.  Still,  as  I  showed  signs 
of  doing  it  once  more,  after  they  had  propped 
me  upright  again,  they  decided  to  put  me  to 
bed. 

When  I  woke  up,  they  told  me  I  was  ill. 
That  seemed  ridiculous,  too,  and  I  said  so ;  and 
added  that  now  I  had  had  a  little  rest  I  intended 
to  get  up  and  go  to  town — important  appoint- 
ment ;  couldn't  possibly  be  spared,  etc. 

And  they  all  said  lots  of  things — you  know 
the  kind  of  arguments  your  friends  always  bring 
to  bear  on  you  if  you  chance  to  be  just  a  little 
out  of  sorts.  I  tried  to  make  them  understand 
that  I  was  indispensable  to  the  well-being  of 

280 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

London ;  that,  though  they  might  be  in  the 
habit  of  shirking  work  under  the  sHghtest 
pretext  of  a  headache,  /  wasn't  that  sort  of  a 
person.  I  owed  it  to  my  conscience,  as  well  as 
to  the  w^orld  at  large,  to  be  at  work  in  my  office 
within  half  an  hour,  penning  words  of  wisdom 
that  should  keep  the  universe  on  its  proper 
balance. 

Ursula  merely  asked  if  I  hked  the  milk  with 
the  beaten  egg  quite  cold  or  a  trifle  warm  ? 

In  the  end  I  had  to  give  in.  They  insisted 
I  was  ill ;  and  I  admit  I  was  feeling  unusually 
tired. 

But  as  the  weeks  went  by  I  did  not  get  as 
strong  as  I  had  hoped  to  do.  I  seldom  got 
farther  than  an  easy-chair,  and  not  always  as  far 
as  that.  So  at  last  I  determined  to  try  the  cure 
that  hitherto  had  never  failed  me.  Trunks  were 
packed,  and  they  got  me  down  by  easy  stages  to 
the  cottage  among  the  hills.  I  felt  that  if  only 
I  could  see  the  flowers  and  breathe  the  air  that 
blows  way  over  from  where  the  Ughthouse  bhnks 
in  the  channel,  I  should  certainly  pick  up  both 
my  strength  and  my  courage. 

When  I  reached  the  cottage  the  autumn  sun 
was  setting  on  hills  that  were  a  gorgeous  blaze 
of  briUiant  crimson,  yellow,  bright  rust,  gold, 
pale  lemon,  chestnut  brown,  with  the  dark  green 
of  yew-trees  at  intervals.      I  have  never  seen 

281  T  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

colours  like  our  autumn  hillsides  anjrwhere  in  the 
world,  though,  of  course,  they  can  be  matched 
in  places  where  the  woods  are  made  up  of  a  wide 
variety  of  different  trees.  After  the  murk  of 
London  in  October  the  glory  of  it  all  fairly 
dazzled  me. 

The  garden  was  lovely  too,  but  in  a  wistful 
sort  of  way.  Snapdragons  and  zinnias  and 
eschscholtzias  were  blooming  lustily ;  there  were 
still  blossoms  on  the  monthly  rose  bushes ; 
nasturtiums  flaunted  in  odd  corners,  and  made 
splashes  of  brightness ;  the  purple  clematis  over 
the  porch  was  in  full  flower  ;  fuchsias,  geraniums, 
belated  larkspurs,  hollyhocks,  and  sweet  alyssum 
talked  of  summer  not  yet  over;  while  peeping 
out  from  crevices  among  the  stones  and  nestling 
at  the  roots  of  trees  were  primroses  already  in 
flower  ;  violets  were  blooming  in  the  big  bed  by 
the  kitchen  door,  and  the  yellow  jasmine  was 
smothered  in  bloom — such  a  curious  mixture  of 
summer  and  spring  overlapping,  with  no  hint  of 
autumn  and  winter  in  between. 

The  fruit  had  not  all  been  gathered  in,  and 
the  trees  in  the  orchard,  were  bowed  down  with 
masses  of  crimson  and  pale  green  and  golden 
yellow  and  russet  brown,  with  spots  of  colour 
dotted  about  among  the  lush  grass.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  one  could  remain  ill  in  such  an 
earthly  paradise  1 

I  was  too  tired  with  the  journey  to  go  round 
282 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

the  garden  that  day ;  I  put  it  off  till  to-morrow. 
Next  day  I  was  not  equal  to  going  out  at  all, 
and  the  third  day  I  did  not  get  up. 

The  colours  gradually  faded  from  the  hill- 
sides ;  the  woods  grew  a  purply-brown ;  the 
white  mists  were  later  and  later  in  rising  from 
the  river  in  the  valley  below  me.  All  day  long 
I  lay  in  bed  watching  the  sun  move  from  east  to 
west  across  the  mountains,  while  near  at  hand 
tomtits  and  finches,  jays  and  magpies,  cheeky 
robins  and  green  and  crimson  woodpeckers 
flitted  about  in  the  bare  trees  just  outside  my 
windows. 

One  little  wren  used  regularly  to  pay  me  a 
morning  call  on  the  window-ledge  ;  often  she 
flew  right  into  the  room.  I  liked  to  think  she 
came  to  ask  how  I  was.  Once  I  opened  my 
eyes  to  find  a  robin  perched  on  the  rail  at  the 
bottom  of  the  bed,  eyeing  me  inquiringly.  The 
little  wild  things  on  these  hills  seem  so  friendly. 

As  soon  as  twilight  fell  the  owls  woke  up  the 
adjoining  wood,  and  called  to  other  owls  across 
the  ravine. 

These  were  the  only  sounds  to  break  the 
silence. 

It  is  when  you  are  ill,  more  than  at  any  other 
time,  that  you  realise  the  human  difference 
between  town  and  country.  You  can  live  all 
your  life,  and  then  be  ill  and  die,  in  London,  and 

.283 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

the  people  next  door — even  those  in  the  same 
building — may  know  nothing  about  it. 

I  knew  of  a  girl  living  in  a  block  of  small 
flats  occupied  by  women  workers,  and  trying  to 
make  a  living  by  journalism,  who  lay  dead  in 
her  room  for  a  week,  and  then  was  only 
discovered  by  the  caretaker  because  her  rent  was 
overdue.  No  one  had  missed  her,  though  there 
were  women  going  up  and  down  stairs  and  in 
and  out  of  the  rooms,  all  around  her.  The 
isolation  of  the  soUtary  woman  in  a  crowded  city 
can  be  something  awful. 

It  isn't  that  town  dwellers  at  heart  are  more 
selfish  than  country  folks ;  it  is  their  mode  of  life 
that  is  to  blame. 

London  claims  so  much  of  one's  time  and 
energy  for  the  doing  of  "  most  important "  work, 
and  the  pursuit  of  machine-made  pleasure,  till 
next  to  nothing  is  left  for  the  greatest  of  all 
work  and  the  greatest  of  all  pleasure — merely 
being  kind. 

Once  it  was  known  that  I  wasn't  getting  better 
and  the  local  doctor  had  been  summoned  (he 
lives  in  another  village  nearly  four  miles  off), 
kindnesses  came  from  all  directions,  everybody 
offering  the  best  they  had.  If  extra  people 
had  been  required  to  take  turns  sitting  up  at 
night,  any  number  were  ready  to  come  on  duty. 
One  woman,  who  is  exceedingly  capable,  though 

284 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

an  amateur  masseuse,  came  to  inquire  if  it 
was  a  case  where  rubbing  would  be  beneficial. 
She  brought  a  bottle  of  Elliman's  with  her,  in 
case  she  could  be  of  use,  and  offered  to  come 
daily. 

Did  the  Buff  Orpingtons  lay  that  priceless 
treasure,  an  unexpected  mid- winter  egg"^.  It 
was  promptly  sent  up  by  a  small  child,  with  a 
kind  hope  from  mother  that  the  lady  would  be 
able  to  take  it. 

I  beheve  Sarah  Ann  Perkins  would  have 
slain  every  duck  she  possessed  (and  have  scorned 
to  take  payment),  if  only  there  had  been  the 
sUghtest  chance  of  my  once  more  eating  that 
fair  slice  from  the  breast ! 

A  calfs  foot  was  needed  for  jelly.  The 
butcher  hadn't  one,  didn't  know  who  had;  but 
one  arrived  next  day,  though  he  had  had  to 
scour  the  county  for  it. 

Was  anything  required  hurriedly  from  the 
village  shop  ?  Everybody  was  wiUing  to  go  and 
fetch  it,  or  Miss  Jarvis  would  toil  up  with  it 
herself,  after  the  shop  was  closed,  rather  than  I 
should  be  kept  waiting,  bringing  up  a  bunch  of 
early  violets  from  her  garden  at  the  same  time. 

One  farmer's  wife  trailed  up  the  rough,  wet 
paths,  with  a  little  pigeon  all  ready  for  roasting, 
in  the  hope  that  it  might  tempt  me. 

The  handy  man  went  out  and  shot  an  owi 
because  he  was  sure  I  must  find  all  they  hooters 

285 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

a  turr'ble  noosance.  Of  course  he  didn't  know 
how  I  love  the  owls,  nor  how  companionable  it 
seemed  to  hear  them  calling  to  one  another 
through  the  long,  long  night.  But  probably  the 
kind  thought  behind  his  gun  was  of  greater 
worth  than  the  bird  he  shot. 

Yes,  everybody  was  anxious  to  do  something, 
only  there  was  so  little  they  could  do — till  one 
day  AngeUna  lost  herself!  She  had  followed 
Abigail  in  the  afternoon  to  the  village,  where  a 
dog  suddenly  scared  and  chased  her,  and  she 
flew  off  into  the  woods. 

Abigail  hunted  for  her  till  the  winter  dusk 
settled  in,  but  no  cat  responded  to  her  calls.  So 
she  had  to  content  herself  with  mentioning  the 
matter  at  each  cottage  in  the  vicinity,  everyone 
willingly  undertaking  to  keep  a  look-out  for  the 
missing  cat.  By  the  next  afternoon  every 
youngster  in  the  village  was  out  scouting  for 
her,  and  saucers  of  milk  were  placed  enticingly 
outside  doors. 

But  poor  Angy  was  never  seen  again. 

I  missed  her  very  much.  She  was  only  a 
very  ordinary  tabby,  but  she  was  a  large,  com- 
fortable, homely  sort  of  a  cat ;  and  she  had 
made  it  part  of  her  daily  programme  to  come 
upstairs  and  jump  softly  on  my  bed  with  a 
pleased  Uttle  mew,  and  then  settle  herself  down 
beside  me,  where  I  could  reach  out  my  hand  to 
stroke   her,   while    she    purred    soothingly   the 

286 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

whole  time.  The  little  dog  was  too  boisterously 
demonstrative,  in  his  joy  at  seeing  me,  to  be 
allowed  in  the  room ;  but  the  more  sedate  and 
gentle  Angelina  helped  me  to  pass  many  a 
weary  hour. 

When  all  search  for  her  proved  fruitless,  the 
kindly  village  people  didn't  dismiss  the  matter 
as  done  with.  Forthwith  there  started  a  pro- 
cession from  the  village  to  my  house,  and  about 
every  hour  someone  arrived  with  an  oiFering.  I 
could  hear  their  voices  at  the  door  below, 
through  the  open  bedroom  window. 

First  it  was  a  labouring  man  with  a  big 
hamper :  *'  My  missus  is  so  worrit  about  the 
poor  young  lady  losing  her  cat,  so  I've  brought 
up  our  Tom,  if  she'd  care  to  accept  him.  He's 
a  fust-class  ratter — killed  a  big  'un  in  our  bam 
yesterday,"  etc. 

Then  it  was  the  piping  voice  of  a  small  girl, 
accompanied  by  two  smaller  :  "  Please,  we're  so 
sorry  about  the  lady  not  having  a  pussy  when 
she's  poorly,  and  we've  brought  her  our  two 
little  kitties,  an'  one  has  six  toes  I  " 

Next  a  bigger  girl :  "  Gran  says  would  miss 
like  one  of  our  kittens  ?  They'll  be  able  to  leave 
their  mother  next  week,  and  I'll  bring  the  lot  up 
for  her  to  choose  from,  if  she'd  like  one." 

A  boy  arrived  with  a  basket  containing  a  fine 
black  cat.  "  Mother's  sent  this  for  the  lady. 
Just  you  see  how  he'll  jump  over  my  hand  and 

287 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

stand  on  his  hind  legs  !  "  —  (a  wild  scramble 
followed).  "  Here,  Peter  !  here — come  hack — 
Pe-ter !  Puss,  puss,  puss !  There  now,  I've 
done  it !  Mother  said  as  I  wasn't  to  open  the 
basket  till  I  was  inside  the  house  I  I  'spect  he's 
back  home  again  by  now !  But  I'll  bring  him 
up  again  presently.  The  lady'll  love  to  have 
him,  he's  so  knowing." 

Later,  I  heard  a  woman's  voice :  "  Poor  dear 
soul,  it  do  seem  hard ;  and  the  on'y  cat  she've  got, 
too  I  Well,  we've  six  to  our  house,  and  she  can 
have  all  of  ourn  and  welcome." 

As  Virginia  said,  it  was  not  quite  so  embar- 
rassing as  griskins,  because,  at  least,  each  had 
four  legs  with  which  to  get  itself  off  home  again. 

But  it  is  weary  work  lying  still  day  after  day 
till  the  weeks  actually  lengthen  into  months.  I 
kept  on  teUing  myself  I  was  making  headway, 
but  it  was  a  poor  pretence.  I  gave  up  thinking 
about  it  at  last,  and  wondered  how  I  could  best 
endure  the  pain  that  no  one  seemed  able  to 
relieve. 

The  autumn  had  now  changed  to  winter,  and 
one  morning  I  woke  to  see  snow  bearing  down 
the  fir-trees  and  lying  on  the  hills.  The  snow  is 
very  beautiful  when  one  is  well  and  strong,  and 
able  to  go  out  in  the  crisp  cold  air  and  enjoy  it ; 
but  to  me,  penned  in  among  the  hills,  miles  away 
from   town   and   the   advantages   of  up-to-date 

288 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

civilisation,  it  gave  a  sudden  sense  of  desolation. 
It  shut  me  off  most  effectually  from  the  big 
world  I  wanted  so  badly  to  see  again.  As  I 
looked  out  upon  that  snow,  it  seemed  as  though 
I  were  buried  already. 

One  desire  swamped  all  others,  and  that  was 
the  longing  to  get  back  to  London  where  friends 
would  be  around  me,  and  specialists  within  easy 
reach.  And  yet  that  appeared  to  be  an  utter 
impossibility.  It  has  always  been  a  matter  of 
pride  with  me  that  my  cottage  is  situated  in  one 
of  the  most  inaccessible  spots  in  the  British  Isles ; 
I  used  to  feel  so  happy  in  the  thought  that  it 
was  only  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  a  vehicle 
could  be  got  near  the  garden  gate.  It  gave  me 
such  a  sense  of  seclusion  and  delightful  "  far- 
away-ness  "  after  the  crush  and  hustle  of  town 
Ufe. 

But  for  once  I  wished  I  had  been  a  wee  bit 
more  accessible.  I  realised  that  there  might  be 
certain  advantages  in  having  a  good  county  road 
close  by  whereon  a  helpless  invalid  could  be 
driven  to  the  station  without  having  every  bone 
in  her  body  jolted  to  pieces !  But  it  was  too 
late  to  do  anything  now. 

Altogether  it  was  two  months  before  I  let 
anyone  in  town  know  how  ill  I  really  was ;  most 
people  thought  I  was  merely  taking  a  long  rest. 
Naturally  it  was  at  once  suggested  a  specialist 
should  be  sent  for ;  but  I  said  no.     I  was  such  a 

289 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

weak  creature  by  this  time,  I  felt  I  couldn't  bear 
to  hear  the  worst — I  was  almost  sure  there  would 
be  a  "  worst "  to  hear — and  that  a  specialist 
wouldn't  diagnose  my  illness  as  merely  overwork. 
I  insisted  that  I  would  rather  be  left  to  die 
quietly.  I  know  it  sounds  very  cowardly,  and 
I  was  a  coward  at  the  time.  But  I  think  many 
women  will  understand  this  condition  of  mind ; 
we  do  try  so  often  to  push  back,  with  both  our 
hands,  trouble  of  this  sort,  when  we  dimly  see 
it  ahead. 

The  hale  and  hearty  person  will  naturally 
exclaim :  "  How  perfectly  ridiculous  !  How 
much  more  sensible  to  have  proper  advice,  and 
then  set  to  work  to  get  strong  again  !  "  I  know  ! 
I  have  myself  said  this  sort  of  thing  to  ill  people 
many  a  time  in  the  past !  But  I  learnt  a  lot  of 
things  during  that  breakdown ;  among  them, 
that  it  is  very  easy  to  lay  down  the  law  as  to 
what  should  be  done,  and  to  act  in  a  common- 
sense  manner,  when  one  is  well ;  but  it  is  quite 
another  thing  to  follow  one's  own  good  advice, 
or,  in  fact,  do  anything  one  ought  to  do,  when 
one  is  too  weak  even  to  think  ! 

Yet  how  often  it  happens  that,  in  our  direst 
extremity,  help  comes  when  least  expected  I  So 
soon  as  it  became  known  in  town  that  I  was 
really  seriously  ill,  there  appeared  among  my 
morning  letters  a  note  from  one  of  London's 
most  famous  surgeons  saying  that  he  was  coming 

290 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

down  on   a  friendly  visit  in  a  couple  of  days 
"just  to  see  if  I  can  help  you  at  all." 

I  read  the  letter  a  second  time,  and  then  all 
my  fears  vanished.  Someone  coming  "  to  help  " 
me  seemed  so  different  from  a  formal  consulta- 
tion. That  phrase  was  better  than  reams  of 
ordinary  sympathy,  or  kind  inquiries,  or  pro- 
fessional expressions.  And  then  I  felt  so  glad 
that  the  matter  had  been  taken  out  of  my  hands. 
It  seemed  as  though  a  weight  was  hfted  from 
my  brain,  and  being  a  feeble  as  well  as  a  foolish 
creature,  at  first  I  put  my  head  under  the  eider- 
down and  had  a  weep — for  sheer  gratitude  ;  but 
a  few  minutes  later  I  rubbed  my  eyes  and  felt  I 
was  heaps  better  already  I 

Yet  the  way  was  not  entirely  clear,  even 
though  this  busy,  over-worked  speciahst  was 
offering  to  spend  more  than  a  day  in  journeying 
right  across  England  to  the  far-off  cottage ; 
there  was  the  snow  to  be  reckoned  with,  and, 
when  it  Hkes,  the  snow  on  our  hills  can 
frustrate  anybody's  best-laid  plans.  The  sky 
was  very  grey;  I  did  hope  no  more  would 
fall,  otherwise  the  roads  would  probably  be 
impassable. 

Owing  to  the  scarcity  of  trains  in  our  valley, 
the  local  doctor  was  to  tap  the  main  line  some 
miles  away,  and  meet  the  great  surgeon ;  and  a 
rich  resident  was  kindly  loaning  a  cherished  new 

291 


The  Flower-Patch 
axnong  the  Hills 

car,  as  the  doctor  did  not  consider  either  of  his 
own  motors  worthy  of  the  occasion. 

But  even  he  was  dubious  as  he  looked  at  the 
heavy  skies.  He  said  he  could  manage  to  get  the 
car  through  eighteen  inches  of  snow ;  but  if  it 

were   deeper  than    that !      I    remembered 

that  only  a  couple  of  years  before  I  had  been 
snowed  up  in  the  cottage  with  drifts  six-foot 
deep.     The  outlook  wasn't  exactly  encouraging. 

Such  heaps  of  tragedies  seemed  possible 
within  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  Suppose, 
for  instance,  royalty  should  suddenly  develop 
some  malady  necessitating  arms  or   legs    being 

amputated  without  delay I     I  simply  dared 

not  think  about  such  a  calamity ;  and  even  though 
the  speciahst  escaped  a  royal  command,  and 
actually  set  off  to  catch  the  train  that  was  to 
bring  him  to  our  hill-country,  there  might  be  an 
accident ;  London  streets  are  beset  with  terrors  ; 
I  never  realised  till  that  moment  how  many 
dangers  a  man  must  face  between  Wimpole 
Street  and  Paddington  Station  I  But  I  tried  to 
have  faith  that  all  would  be  well. 

I  heard  a  soft  step  in  the  room — every  step 
that  came  near  me  was  softened  nowadays.  I 
opened  my  eyes  and  saw  Abigail  beside  my  bed. 

"  Please,  m'm,  do  you  happen  to  know  if  the 
specialist-doctor  takes  pepper  ? "  she  asked  in  the 
half-whisper  that  she  had  adopted  as  her  bed- 
room voice. 

292 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

"  I  haven't  the  remotest  idea,"  I  said  ;  "  but 
why  do  you  want  to  know  ? " 

"  Because  we've  just  smashed  the  glass 
pepper-box,  and  we  haven't  another  down  here. 
And  I  can't  exactly  put  it  on  the  table  in  a 
mustard-pot ! " 

I  watched  for  the  snow,  the  eighteen  inches 
I  was  dreading ;  but  the  wind  changed  and  it 
didn't  fall.  Instead,  next  morning  found  us 
enveloped  in  a  solid  fog — the  only  fog  we  had 
had  this  season.  Hills  and  valleys  were  blotted 
out  as  completely  as  though  they  had  never 
existed.  The  cottage  seemed  to  stand  in  mid- 
air, with  nothing  but  grey  unoccupied  space 
around  it.  And  it  was  such  a  raw,  penetrating 
fog. 

I  just  lay  and  watched  the  grey,  blind  world 
outside  the  windows,  and  counted  the  half-hours 
as  the  morning  wore  by.  And  isn't  it  amazing 
how  long  the  very  minutes  can  be  when  one  is 
right-down  ill,  and  waiting  for  a  doctor  ? 

In  a  small  isolated  community  Hke  ours,  one 
excitement  is  made  to  do  duty  for  a  long  while. 
The  impending  visit  of  the  surgeon  from  London 
was  soon  the  topic  of  general  conversation.  And 
Httle  white  curtains  were  pulled  aside  from 
cottage  windows  as  the  car,  with  the  doctor  and 
a  stranger,  was  seen  coming  down  one  hill  and 
over  the  bridge  into   the  village  in  the  valley, 

293 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

switchbacking  again  up  the  opposite  hill  to  reach 
the  particular  crag  on  which  my  cottage  is 
perched. 

Owing  to  previous  heavy  rains,  the  lanes 
were  almost  impassable  in  places ;  overflowing 
brooks  made  rivers  and  swamps  in  most  un- 
expected spots.  Thus  it  was  that  the  car  could 
not  come  within  half-a-mile  of  the  cottage ;  it 
had  to  be  "  beached  "  high  and  dry  in  somebody's 
farmyard,  and  the  rest  of  the  journey  made  on 
foot.  The  walk  is  a  positive  fairyland  dream  in 
summer;  but  on  the  bleak  December  day  the 
ferns  and  flowers  were  gone,  and  the  withered 
grass  stalks  rustled  with  a  disconsolate  wheeze, 
while  the  pine-trees  creaked  and  moaned  in  the 
wind.  It  seemed  an  unkind,  inhospitable  sort  of 
a  day  to  bring  a  busy,  valuable  man  such  a  long, 
cold  distance. 

At  last  I  heard  brisk  footsteps  coming  down 
the  path  to  the  door,  scrunching  the  cones  that 
had  fallen  from  the  larches.  Then  a  cheerful 
voice  was  speaking,  while  great-coats  were  being 
taken  off  down  below.  I  shut  my  eyes,  and  felt 
1  need  not  worry  any  more. 

After  all,  we  women  are  curious  creatures  I 
We  consult  a  speciahst  when  we  have  some 
weakness  that  won't  give  way  to  ordinary  treat- 
ment, and  then,  when,  out  of  his  exceptional 
knowledge  and  wide  experience,  he  tells  us  what 

294 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

will  probably  cure  us,  many  of  us  immediately 
beseech  him  to  make  it  something  else. 

When  the  surgeon  told  me  what  course  it 
would  be  necessary  to  take  if  I  was  to  be  got  on 
to  my  feet  again,  I  immediately  began  to  state  a 
hundred  reasons  why  I  wished  he  would  prescribe 
something  entirely  different.  He  said  he  was 
going  to  have  me  brought  to  London  at  once 
and  taken  to  a  hospital.  I  knew  that  was  the 
very  last  thing  I  could  endure.  I  have  always 
had  an  absolute  terror  lest  I  should  ever  have  to 
go  into  a  hospital ;  and  here  I  was  confronted 
with  it  face  to  face.  I  said  I  could  not  go  into 
one ;  whatever  treatment  was  necessary  must  be 
done  in  my  own  home.  I  didn't  want  to  be 
among  strangers  and  with  nurses  whom  I  had 
never  seen  before ;  I  wanted  to  be  nursed  by 
people  I  knew.  And  as  for  chloroform,  well,  I 
would  gladly  die  first !  such  was  the  horror  I 
had  of  it.     And  I  continued  on  these  Unes. 

The  surgeon  listened  very  patiently  and  let 
me  have  my  say  out.  (Where  in  the  world  does 
a  man  hke  this  get  his  marvellous  stock  of 
patience  from  !)  He  even  agreed  with  most  of 
my  arguments.  Anaesthetics  were  disagreeable ; 
it  certainly  would  be  pleasanter  to  be  in  my  own 
home  ;  and  it  might  be  nicer  if  I  had  only  friends 
around  me,  etc. 

But,  all  the  same,  it  was  borne  in  upon  me 
that  I  might  as  well  try  to  get  the  Sphinx  to 

295  u 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

turn  its  head  and  nod  over  to  a  pyramid,  as  to 
attempt  to  make  the  man  who  was  talking  to 
me  budge  an  eighth  of  an  inch.  And  he  wound 
up  by  saying,  "  I  am  afraid,  however,  that  it 
will  have  to  be  a  hospital — I'm  so  sorry — but  I 
want  you  to  go  into  a  private  ward  in  Mildmay. 
You  shall  have  the  best  man  in  London  to 
administer  the  anaesthetic  ;  and  as  for  nurses — 
well,  if  you  don't  say  they  are  some  of  the  finest 
women  you  have  ever  met,  I  shall  be  much 
surprised." 

By  this  time  I  had  my  head  under  the  eider- 
down again,  and  was  howHng  away  (quietly).  I 
was  so  truly  sorry  for  myself ! 

The  great  man  waited  for  a  minute,  and  then, 
as  the  sniffles  didn't  stop,  he  said — 

"Now  just  listen  to  me.  You  are  in  the 
habit  of  writing  heaps  of  good  advice  to  people 
when  they  are  in  trouble — telling  them  to  have 
faith  when  adversity  comes,  and  to  bear  their 
burdens  bravely.  Don't  you  think  you  are  a 
most  inconsistent  person  ?  Here  you  are,  con- 
fronted with  something  that  is  going  to  be  a 
trifle  trying,  and  you  immediately  turn  your  face 
to  the  wall,  and  say  you  prefer  to  die,  without 
so  much  as  giving  a  soHtary  kick  I  Why, 
Hezekiah  isn't  in  it,  beside  you  I  What  is  your 
faith  worth  at  this  rate  ! " 

Then  for  a  good  half-hour  he  sat  and  talked, 
reminding  me  of  our  duty  as  professing  Chris- 

296 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

tians  ;  of  the  wrong  we  do  when  we  try  to  shuffle 
away  from  our  work  ;  of  God's  care  for  His 
children  individually,  and  of  our  foolishness  in 
doubting  Him  in  times  of  trouble. 

I  had  got  to  a  very  low  ebb  spiritually  as 
well  as  physically.  Being  cut  off  from  the  world 
and  so  much  alone,  with  only  a  pain  to  think 
about,  my  outlook  on  life  had  become  altogether 
distorted.  My  soul  was  certainly  in  need  of  a 
bracing  up  just  then — and  it  got  it. 

One  thing  impressed  me  very  much  at  this 
time,  viz.,  the  marvellous  power  that  lies  in  the 
hands  of  those  who  can  bring  healing  to  the  soul 
as  well  as  healing  to  the  body.  The  most 
devoted  of  God's  ministers  have  seldom  such 
power  as  this.  They  can  bring  messages  of  hope 
and  consolation,  but  they  do  not  know  how  much 
a  sick  person  is  able,  physically,  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  a  strong  spiritual  tonic,  and  they  seldom 
dare  administer  one,  even  though  they  may  think 
it  necessary. 

But  the  doctor  knows  how  much  the  patient 
is  equal  to.  And  the  man  who  has  consecrated 
to  God's  service  a  Ufe  that  is  spent  in  mending 
the  poor  broken  bodies  of  humanity  is  surely 
doing  work  that  angels  might  envy ;  undoubtedly 
God  gives  him  power  and  opportunity  that  falls 
to  the  lot  of  few  other  men. 

The  December  afternoon  closed  in  early,  and 

297  u  2 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

the  surgeon  had  once  more  to  take  a  long,  dreary 
journey  to  get  back  to  the  urgent  work  waiting 
for  him  in  town.  But  he  left  behind  him  a  far 
more  sane  and  sensible  person  than  he  had  found 
on  his  arrival. 

When  he  had  gone,  after  having  made  the 
most  comprehensive  and  detailed  plans  for  my 
removal,  Abigail  tiptoed  into  my  room,  her  face 
all  aglow  with  excitement. 

"  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know  I  heard  the 
speciaUst-doctor  say,  when  I  was  bringing  in  the 
sweets  at  lunch,  that  he  didn't  know  when  he 
had  eaten  roast  chicken  he  had  enjoyed  so  much. 
I  shall  rub  it  into  cook  when  we  go  home. 
And  I'd  better  let  Sarah  Ann  Perkins  know,  as 
we  got  it  from  her." 

"Take  whatever  is  left,  and  keep  it  for  a 
souvenir,"  I  said.  "  And  if  you  like  to  have  the 
carcase  framed,  I'll  pay  for  it." 

"  You  look  better  already,"  she  replied. 

Thus  the  great  man  scattered  cheeriness  in 
various  directions  ;  and  Sarah  Ann,  a  year  later, 
pridefully  showed  me  the  chicken's  wings  a-top 
her  best  Sunday  bonnet. 

In  just  as  much  time  as  it  took  my  London 
doctor  to  come  west  to  assume  charge  of  me, 
they  got  me  under  way. 

"But  how  am  I  ever  going  to  reach  the 
main  road  !  "  I  wailed. 

298 


When  the  Surgeon 
Crossed  the  Hills 

"  Perfectly  easy,"  said  Ursula.  "  You  are 
going  to  be  carried,  and  every  masculine  in  the 
place  is  willing  to  lend  a  hand." 

And  so  they  did.  One  young  man  made 
himself  entirely  responsible  for  my  luggage, 
going  off  with  it  by  train,  that  there  should  be 
no  chance  of  any  delay.  A  stalwart  fisherman 
and  a  sturdy  young  farmer  carried  me,  in  a  chair, 
straight  up  hill  for  half  a  mile  to  where  a  motor 
was  waiting  on  the  county  road. 

Everybody  was  so  gentle  and  quiet,  and  yet 
very  businessHke.  They  stood  silently,  with 
their  hats  off,  while  I  was  put  into  the  car.  I 
looked  round  on  the  hills,  convinced  that  I  was 
looking  at  them  for  the  last  time,  and  felt 
exactly  as  though  I  were  present  at  my  own 
funeral ! 

Even  the  people  in  the  village  kept  sym- 
pathetically in  the  background,  with  the  same 
sort  of  respect  one  observes  when  a  funeral 
procession  passes  ;  though  at  the  last  house  in 
the  village  one  dear  kindly  soul  pulled  her  Httle 
white  curtains  aside,  waving  her  hand  and 
smiling  encouragingly  to  me  as  we  went  by. 


299 


XIV 

In  Mildmay  Hospital 

— An  Interlude 

I  don't  think  there  is  anything  worse  than  the 
sense  of  utter  desolation  that  envelops  you 
when  the  hospital  door  finally  closes  on  every- 
body you  know,  and  you  are  alone  with  total 
strangers  and  unknown  terrors  ahead.  The 
dreariest  moment  of  my  whole  life  was  when  I 
found  myself  alone  in  a  private  ward  at  Mildmay, 
with  no  one  whom  I  knew  within  call. 

Yet  was  it  mere  chance,  I  wonder,  that  the 
nurses  at  their  prayers  that  day  sang  Matheson's 
beautiftd  hymn — "  O  Love,  that  wilt  not  let  me 
go"? 

It  came  to  me  along  the  corridor,  as  I  lay 
staring  at  the  ceiling.  I  tried,  in  my  heart,  to 
sing  it  with  them ;  but  I  gave  it  up  when  they 
got  to  the  verse — 

"  O  Joy,  that  seekest  me  through  pain, 
I  cannot  close  my  heart  to  Thee ; 

I  trace  the  rainbow  through  the  rain, 

And  feel  the  promise  is  not  vain. 
That  morn  shall  tearless  be." 

I  couldn't  see  the  rainbow  just  then. 

Nevertheless,  I  got  to  love  that  room  as  one 
of  the  happiest  spots  on  earth,  for  the  sake  of 
the  people  whom  I  found  there  ;  and  during  the 

300 


In  Mildmay  Hospital 
—An  Interlude 

ten  weeks  1  remained  in  it,  I  proved  beyond  all 
chance  of  further  doubt  that  when  God  seems  to 
be  taking  from  us.  He  is  in  reahty  giving  us 
something  better  than  all  we  could  ever  ask  or 
think.  At  the  moment  of  the  taking,  perhaps, 
our  eyes  are  too  dimmed  to  see  this,  but  in  the 
fulfilment  of  time,  when  He  wipes  away  our 
tears,  may  it  not  be  that,  in  addition  to  banishing 
our  sorrows.  He  will  clear  our  vision,  that  we 
may  see  how  marvellously  He  made  all  things 
work  together  for  good  ? 

Next  day  I  remarked,  irritably,  that  I  didn't 
Uke  the  green  walls,  and  I  thought  the  green 
bedspread  positively  bilious. 

The  matron,  looking  at  me  with  a  twinkle 
in  her  eyes,  said,  "  Dear  lady,  you  shall  have 
another  bedspread  this  instant ;  and  as  soon  as 
you  are  well  enough  to  be  moved,  we  will 
re-paint  the  walls  whatever  colour  meets  with 
your  approval ; — we  can't  do  it  while  you  are 
in  bed,  can  we?  Meanwhile,  I  shall  call  you 
*  Delicate  Fuss '  I " 

(And  "  Delicate  Fuss  "  I  have  remained  ever 
since.) 

But  there  was  such  an  amount  of  misery 
bottled  up  inside  me,  some  of  it  was  obliged  to 
spill  over,  and  I  once  more  reiterated  my  desire 
to  die. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  matron  cheer- 
301 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

fully ;  "  but  how  about  your  tombstone  ?  You 
would  like  a  really  artistic  one,  wouldn't  you  ? 
And  being  literary,  surely  you  would  wish  to 
edit  what  is  to  go  on  it.  Now  let  us  see  what 
we  can  scheme  out." 

So  we  all  settled  to  a  discussion  of  shapes  and 
styles  and  suitable  words.  The  nurses  warmed 
to  the  work,  the  ward  sister  came  in  to  give  her 
views,  and  for  the  first  time  for  weeks  I  found 
myself  smiling.  Finally,  it  was  unanimously 
decided  that  the  most  appropriate  and  truthful 
description  would  be  these  simple  words — 

*  SHE  WAS  PLAIN  BUT  OCCASIONALLY  PLEASANT." 

But  the  time  came  when  I  was  beyond  even 
discussing  tombstones ;  when  I  could  not  bear  a 
sound  in  the  room  and  even  quiet  footsteps 
jarred  me.  Then  it  was  that  I  found  out  more 
especially  what  the  spirit  of  Mildmay  stands  for. 
It  was  no  mere  perfunctory  service  that  was 
rendered  the  invaUd.  Doctors,  matron,  nurses 
said  nothing  of  the  extra  hours  of  work  they  put  in 
on  my  account ;  of  the  watching  and  the  tending 
when  they  were  really  supposed  to  be  off  duty. 
It  seemed  wonderful  that  I,  who  had  looked 
forward  to  the  inevitable  with  a  terrible  dread 
of  being  lonely  and  among  strangers,  should 
actually  find  myself,  when  the  time  came,  sur- 
rounded by  friendly  faces,  and  cared  for  by 
people  who  had  grown  very  dear  to  me. 

302 


In  Mildmay  Hospital 
— An  Interlude 

And  fancy  a  hospital  where  they  went  to  the 
trouble  of  bandaging  up  the  door-handles  to 
prevent  noisy  bangs ;  where  they  laid  down 
matting  to  deaden  the  sounds  in  the  corridor; 
where  they  fixed  peremptory  notices  to  the 
doors,  enjoining  all  and  sundry  to  close  them 
quietly ;  where  even  the  ward-maid  constituted 
herself  dragoness-in-chief,  for  the  time  being, 
watching  and  waiting,  and  then  pouncing  on  any 
unthinking  person  who  might  let  a  latch  sUp 
through  her  fingers,  or  a  house-porter  who  might 
clatter  a  coal-scuttle. 

Yet  this — and  a  great  deal  more — is  what 
they  did  at  Mildmay,  just  because  one  patient 
was  going  through  a  bad  time. 

Thanks  to  all  the  care  I  received,  I  was  at 
last  able  to  leave  the  hospital.  Of  course  I  was 
glad  to  go  out  into  the  big  world  again — who 
wouldn't  be,  after  lying  all  that  time  with  no 
other  "  view  "  visible  from  where  1  lay  but  three 
chimney-pots  ?  I  was  glad  to  think  I  was  going 
to  be  able  to  walk  again,  and  take  up  my  work 
once  more.  But  I  felt  genuine  regret  at  having 
to  say  good-bye  to  the  people  I  had  really  grown 
to  love  during  my  stay  with  them. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  morning  that  I  was 
taken  away  by  a  couple  of  nurses  to  the  seaside. 
The  others  came,  in  ones  and  twos,  to  say  good- 
bye.    And  in  the  midst  of  it,  the  great  surgeon 

303 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

walked  in — just  to  see  what  the  patient  was  Uke 
before  she  started. 

"Now  confess,"  he  said,  "  a  hospital  isn't  such 
a  bad  place  after  aU,  is  it  ?  " 

I  agreed  with  him ;  but  I  couldn't  put  into 
words  what  a  wonderfully  good  place  I  had 
found  it. 

I  could  only  think  what  a  contrast  was  pre- 
sented between  the  poor,  forlorn  thing  who 
arrived  those  months  before,  and  the  stiU-very- 
wobbly,  but  cheerfuUy-smiHng,  person  who  was 
now  driving  away,  while  the  nurses  leaned  out 
of  the  upper  windows  and  showered  rice  all  over 
the  vehicle. 


304 


XV 

The  Return  to  the 

Flower-Patch 

And  because  it  is  the  correct  thing  to  introduce 
a  wedding  into  the  last  chapter,  I  had  better 
mention  the  one  I  know  most  about. 

I  always  did  say  that,  whenever  I  married, 
my  wedding  should  be  characterised  by  every- 
thing appertaining  to  common  sense ;  while  all 
the  feebleness  and  foolishness  and  weakminded- 
ness  I  had  noticed  at  other  people's  weddings 
would  be  entirely  lacking.  I  have  often  re- 
marked how  strange  it  is  that  otherwise  sensible 
people  seem  to  lose  all  idea  of  proportion  when 
it  comes  to  arranging  a  wedding ;  how  they  let 
themselves  be  obsessed  with  clothes  and  furniture 
and  wedding  presents  that  they  don't  require  ;  or 
if  they  do  require  them,  they  might  have  been 
dealt  with  on  orderly  systematic  lines. 

"  Why  need  there  be  a  chaos  of  garments  in 
the  spare  room  and  every  wardrobe  and  chest  of 
drawers  in  the  house  just  because  one  person  is 
going  to  be  married  ?  "  I  have  said  many  a  time. 
Well,  I'm  not  going  to  say  it  again.  In  fact, 
the  older  I  get  the  more  I  find  life  resolves  itself 
into  one  continual  discovery  that  I  needn't  have 
said  half  the  things  that  I  did  say  in  my  first 
youth. 

305 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

But  with  regard  to  the  wedding.  1  think  1 
started  all  right ;  it  was  as  matters  proceeded 
that  I  was  overtaken  by  the  inevitable.  I  really 
was  too  busy  with  arrears  of  work  that  accumu- 
lated during  my  long  illness  to  see  to  the 
trousseau  details  in  extenso,  so  I  asked  an  intimate 
friend  if  she  would  take  this  in  hand  for  me — 
which  she  kindly  agreed  to  do.  She  had  had 
lots  of  experience,  and  her  taste  was  exquisite  ; 
so  I  knew  matters  were  safe  with  her.  She  asked 
me  what  frocks  I  already  had.  I  rephed,  "  Not 
a  rag  fit  to  wear  I " 

"  Then  I'll  make  a  good  selection,  and  have 
them  sent  home  for  you  to  choose  from,"  she 
rephed,  her  face  suffused  with  that  joy-radiance 
that  invariably  overtakes  a  woman  who  starts 
out  shopping  with  a  blank  cheque  in  her  hand- 
bag. 

She  certainly  did  make  a  good  selection ;  I 
almost  wished  it  hadn't  been  quite  so  good,  then 
at  least  I  should  have  known  what  to  send  back. 
But  as  it  was,  every  fresh  box  I  opened,  I  ex- 
claimed, "  Isn't  that  lovely  !  I  must  have  that  I " 
till  presently  the  room  was  a  billowy  sea  of 
tissue  paper  and  beautiful  garments  that  looked 
as  though  hands  had  never  touched  them.  I 
thought  I  was  quite  hardened  and  proof  against 
lures  of  this  kind ;  but  the  snare  of  it  simply 
enmeshes  you  before  you  know  where  you  are. 
As  my  bedroom  was  soon  full  to  overflowing,  I 

306 


The  Return  to 
the  Flower-Patch 

said  the  rest  of  the  things  had  better  go  into  a 
spare  room.  Very  soon  the  spare  rooms  were 
full  too.     And  so  we  went  on  Hke  that ! 

Why  didn't  I  put  the  things  away  in  drawers 
and  wardrobes  ?  Simply  because  every  such 
receptacle  I  possessed  was  full  to  distraction 
before  the  trousseau  things  started  to  arrive  I 
Did  you  ever  know  a  woman  who  possessed  a 
drawer  or  a  wardrobe  peg  that  wasn't  already 
over  full,  and  she  pining  for  more  space  ?  So 
for  weeks  we  had  to  hop  over  piles  of  cardboard 
boxes  no  matter  what  room  we  entered,  and 
scrabble  up  more  bales  of  tissue  paper  and 
things  to  make  room  on  the  sofa  for  tha 
friend  who  called  to  bring  her  good  wishes  in 
person. 

Still,  I  have  always  thought  that  a  strong 
argument  in  favour  of  a  woman  getting  married 
is  the  fact  that  she,  presumably,  comes  in  for 
additional  drawers  and  wardrobes.  Hence  I 
looked  forward  to  getting  into  my  new  home 
with  considerable  satisfaction  in  view  of  the 
purchase  of  extra  furniture. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it's  a  bit  crowded  just  now,"  I 
agreed,  when  Virginia  suggested  I  should  set  up 
a  shop  with  "  JModes  et  Robes  "  over  the  door, 
because  she  had  estimated  that  I  shouldn't  need 
to  buy  any  tissue  paper  for  eleven  years  and  five 
months.  "  But  I  shall  have  heaps  of  spare  room 
when  I  get  into  the  new  house ;  I  really  shan't 

307 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

know  what  to  do  with  so  many  chests  of 
drawers  I " 

But  alas  !  in  spite  of  the  additional  furniture, 
1  am  stiU  squeezing  things  into  drawers  that 
would  be  so  much  more  useful  if  made  of  elastic 
india-rubber  instead  of  wood.  And  I  am  still 
flattening  garments  into  wardrobes  that  are  so 
bulgingly  full  that  I  wonder  sometimes  whether 
the  looking-glass  will  stand  the  inside  pressure. 
And  still  I  don't  seem  to  have  a  rag  fit  to 
wear. 

But  the  moving  process  was  even  worse  than 
the  trousseau.  The  very  thought  of  it  was 
turning  my  brain  to  stone. 

When  I  mentioned  my  quakings  about  the 
moving  to  the  Head  of  Affairs,  he  said  airily, 
"  Don't  you  give  a  solitary  thought  to  that. 
Just  go  away  for  a  couple  of  days'  holiday,  and 
when  you  come  back  you  will  find  everything  as 
right  as  can  be  in  the  new  house.  You  don't 
need  to  touch  a  thing  or  pack  an  atom.  The 
men  do  everything.  Now,  why  bother  your  head 
with  unnecessary  worrying  ?  "  etc. 

I  seemed  to  think  I  had  heard  the  same  re- 
mark made  in  the  dim  past  when  we  removed 
from  one  house  to  another  in  my  early  days.  I 
also  remember  that  the  brother  of  Virginia  and 
Ursula  said  the  very  same  thing  to  them  when 
they  moved,  and  they,  acting  on  masculine 
advice,  had  the  greatest  difficulty,  ultimately,  in 

308 


The  Return  to 
the  Flower-Patch 

ever  finding  any  solitary  thing  they  possessed 
(including  themselves)  among  the  ruins.  So  I 
decided  to  postpone  the  couple  of  days'  hoHday 
and  face  the  worst. 

There  is  no  need  to  go  into  details  about 
that  move.  Those  who  have  been  through  it 
know  exactly  how  many  months  it  takes  to  find 
such  things  as  the  corkscrew,  the  buttonhook, 
the  oil- can  belonging  to  the  sewing-machine, 
the  one  hammer  that  has  its  head  fixed  on 
firmly. 

They  know  the  joy  with  which  you  fall  on 
the  missing  sofa  cushions  when  they  are  eventually 
discovered  done  up  with  spare  bedding  in  the 
attic — that  everyone  has  been  too  tired  to  undo ; 
and  the  affectionate  greetings  bestowed  on  the 
hall  clothes-brush  when  it  is  at  length  found — in 
company  with  the  dog's  whip — in  a  drawer  one 
has  forgotten  in  a  small  table.  Of  course,  it's 
very  satisfactory  when  the  perspiring  gentleman 
who  has  packed — and  then  unpacked  again — all 
the  china  comes  to  announce,  "  Not  a  single 
piece  is  cracked  or  chipped,  madam ;  "  but  when 
you  survey  the  piles  of  crockery  and  glass  on 
the  kitchen  dresser  and  table  and  window-ledge 
and  mantelpiece,  that  haven't  yet  found  an 
abiding-place,  and  see  the  pantries  fiill  to  over- 
flowing, a  lurking  thought  coines  that  perhaps  it 
might  have  been  an  advantage  if  he  had  smashed 
a  few  dozens  of  the  multitudinous  array  of  cups 

309 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

and  saucers   and   plates  and   dishes   that   seem 
woefully  superfluous  at  the  moment  I 

As  there  seemed  a  good  bit  still  to  do,  I  said 
I  would  dispense  with  the  conventional  "  tour," 
proper  to  the  occasion,  and  spend  the  time  trying 
to  dispose  of  the  twenty-seven  British  workmen, 
supposed  to  be  house-decorating,  who  were  cheer- 
fully in  possession  (and  apparently  regarding  their 
posts  as  Ufe  appointments)  when  our  goods  arrived 
at  the  door,  despite  our  having  let  them  hve  in 
the  house  rent  free  for  two  months  previously. 

It  was  a  little  difficult  to  follow  their  twenty- 
seven  lines  of  argument  as  to  why  they  should 
remain  with  us  permanently,  with  Abigail  con- 
tinually at  my  elbow  presenting  a  tradesman's 
card  and  explaining — 

"  Please,  ma'am,  this  man  says  he  served  the 
people  who  were  here  before ;  but  I've  told  him 
he's  the  ninth  fishmonger  who  has  said  that 
to-day." 

Or  else  it  would  be,  "  There's  a  man  at  the 
door  says  he  served  the  last  people  with  groceries. 
Can  I  tell  him  to  run  back  and  get  some  soap  ? 
I  can't  find  where  the  men  put  our  packets,  and 
it  will  be  quicker  than  sending  to  the  Stores.  I 
suppose  you  don't  happen  to  have  seen  it,  m'm  ? 
Cook  and  I  have  looked  everywhere.  But  we've 
found  the  anchovy  sauce,  and  the  carpet  beater. 

Where  do  you  think  they  had  packed  them ' 

and  so  on. 

310 


The  Return  to 
the  Flower-Patch 

But  I  determined  to  do  my  wifely  duty  in 
making  a  happy  home  for  the  man  who  had  had 
the  courage  to  marry  me. 

I  was  politely  attentive  when  interviewed  by 
a  near-by  magnate  who  was  anxious  to  propose 
the  Head  of  Affairs  for  the  Conservative  Club. 
I  accepted  particulars  supphed  me  by  the 
secretary  of  the  Golf  Club,  who  felt  we  were  the 
very  people  the  club  needed.  I  tried  to  under- 
stand when  the  gardener  explained  the  peculiar- 
ities of  the  greenhouse  heating  apparatus,  and 
the  danger  that  would  threaten  if  anyone  but 
himself  entered  the  greenhouse. 

I  endured  the  postman  knocking  at  the  door 
a  dozen  times  a  day  to  inquire  if  we  lived  there, 
only  to  point  out  to  us  that  we  didn't  when  we 
had  assured  him  that  we  did.  I  informed  the 
sweep  that  everything  was  quite  satisfactory 
thank  you,  and  I  should  hope  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  him  again. 

I  accepted  the  coal  man's  many  reasons  for 
not  having  deUvered  the  coal  sooner ;  and  I 
thanked  cook  for  the  information  that  the  police- 
man said  he  or  his  mate  would  always  be  on 
point  duty  at  the  corner  whenever  we  wanted 
him. 

I  filed  half  a  bushel  of  tradesmen's  price  Hsts 
and  laundry  data. 

I  put  the  whole  household  on  a  milk-pudding 
diet,  rather  than  waste  the  numerous  samples  of 

311  X 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

milk  left,  by  rival  and  mutually  abusive  dairy- 
men, in  a  row  of  cans  at  the  side  door. 

And  when  a  sumptuously  apparelled  resident 
called  to  say  that  the  previous  occupant  had 
always  contributed  Uberally  to  the  local  working 
men's  brass  band,  I  tried  to  look  gratified  to  hear 
of  such  generosity — though  I  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  say  I  should  not  be  at  home  on  Saturday 
evening  when  they  proposed  to  serenade  me  in 
the  front  garden. 

Yes,  it  was  a  pleasant  and  peaceful  couple  of 
days,  and  I  dare  say  I  should  have  been  aU  the 
better  for  the  complete  rest,  had  not  the  tele- 
phone men  and  the  gas  stove  men  called 
simultaneously  with  the  electrical  engineers  (who 
had  been  summoned  to  see  why  the  electric  Ught 
sulked),  and,  with  a  unanimity  of  purpose  that 
was  truly  beautiful  in  a  world  so  full  of  variance, 
they  all  set  to  work  to  take  up  floor-boards, 
in  rooms  and  halls  where  the  carpets  and 
lino  had  been  laid — the  twenty-seven  standing 
around  and  assisting  with  reminiscence  and 
anecdote. 

Then  it  was  that  the  Head  of  Affairs  put 
down  a  firm  foot  and  insisted  on  the  Flower- 
Patch. 

At  first  Abigail  was  reluctant  to  leave  such 
bright  scenes  in  the  kitchen  as  she  hadn't  known 
for  several  years ;  but,  remembering  that  a  halo 
of  distinction  surrounds  the  bearer  of  exclusive 

312 


The  Return  to 
the  Flower-Patch 

information,  no  matter  how  unimportant,  she  set 
off  cheerfully  next  morning,  and  we  followed  a 
day  later. 

She  prided  herself  on  the  tactful  way  she 
broke  her  news  to  the  village. 

"  Hasn't  Miss  Klickmann  come  down  long 
with  'ee  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Widow  and  the  handy 
man  in  unison. 

"You'll  never  see  Miss  Klickmann  again," 
Abigail  rephed  in  funereal  tones. 

"  Oh !  You  don't  tell  me  so !  Poor  dear 
thing  I  though  I  knowed  she  wasn't  long  for  this 
world,"  and  kind-hearted  Mrs.  Widow  started 
to  mop  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  "  Was  it  very 
suddint  at  the  last  ? " 

"Very!"  said  the  handmaiden.  "Couldn't 
make  up  her  mind  till  the  very  day  before  the 
wedding." 

When  they  had  grasped  the  true  state  of 
affairs,  and  imbibed  enough  particulars  to  have 
filled  three  newspaper  columns,  Mrs.  Widow 
hurried  off  home,  and  then  on  to  the  village, 
hkewise  conscious  of  the  halo  of  distinction.  But 
the  handy  man  paused — 

"  I  wish  I'd  er  knowed  a  bit  sooner,"  he  said, 
"  then  I'd  er  made  an  arch  with  '  Welcome '  on 
it  as  large  as  you  please.  Yes,  I'd  er  like  to 
have  had  an  arch.  But  thur," — after  a  moment's 
thought — "  perhaps  I'd  better  do  a  bit  o'  weedin' 
and  cut  the  grass." 

313 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

Thus  it  happened  that  I  was  once  again  going 
along  the  road,  over  which  they  had  carried  me 
only  seven  months  before.  It  was  cold  and 
cheerless  then;  now  it  was  all  flowers  and 
sunshine. 

The  kindly,  motherly  soul  who  lives  in  the 
end  house  was  at  her  gate  now,  watching  for  our 
coming. 

"  Well  there  1  Well  there  ! "  as  the  wagonette 
stopped  for  me  to  speak  to  her.  "  I  thought  I 
should  never  see  you  again" — and  she  grasped 
my  hand  in  her  own,  having  first  poUshed  it  on 
her  apron,  which  is  always  fresh  and  spotless. 
"  And  now  here  you  are.  My  dear,  I'm  that  glad 
to  see  you  back,  and  I  do  hope  you'll  be  happy." 

The  stalwart  fisherman,  standing  on  the  river 
bank,  raised  his  cap — I  hadn't  forgotten  the 
good  work  he  had  done  for  me.  Miss  Jarvis  at 
the  village  shop  came  to  the  door  and  waved  her 
hand — I  remembered  the  box  of  violets  and 
moss  and  little  ferns  she  had  posted  to  the 
hospital. 

In  the  cottage  itself  kind  hands  had  been 
hard  at  work ;  it  was  simply  a  bower  of  wild 
flowers.  The  walls  inside  were  nearly  smothered 
with  trophies  of  moon  daisies,  grasses  and  ferns, 
and  the  same  scheme  of  flowers  was  carried  all 
up  the  stairs.  On  the  window  ledge  on  the 
landing  were  bowls  of  Sweet  Betsy  and  cow 
parsley — and  such  a  pretty  mixture  the  crimson 

314 


The  Return  to 
the  Flower-Patch 

and  the  white  flowers  made.  Upstairs  the  rooms 
were  gay  with  bowls  of  forget-me-nots  and 
buttercups.  Downstairs  it  was  wild  roses  and 
honeysuckle,  with  mugs  of  red  clover  on  the 
mantelpieces.  Being  summer,  the  fire-grates 
were  at  hberty,  and  these  were  filled  with 
branches  of  bracken,  ivy,  silvery  honesty  seeds, 
and  foxglove.  Everything  had  such  a  deUght- 
fully  "  misty  "  effect,  by  reason  of  the  seeding 
grasses  that  had  been  added  lavishly  to  the 
flowers. 

The  only  garden  flowers  in  the  house  were 
some  roses,  in  the  centre  of  the  dinner-table, 
sent  by  Miss  Jarvis  (with  some  pale  green  young 
lettuces)  from  her  garden. 

Outside  the  swallows  were  twittering,  and, 
like  all  the  other  birds,  were  fussing  about  their 
small  families.  The  distant  hills  were  glowing 
crimson  by  the  acre  where  the  timber  had  been 
cut,  I  knew  it  was  myriads  and  myriads  of  fox- 
gloves. Near  at  hand  the  Flower-Patch  was  a 
mass  of  nodding  blossoms,  coupled,  with  a 
choice  variety  of  weeds.  I  wondered  where  I 
had  better  begin,  and  how  I  should  cope  with 
the  bindweed,  flaunting  itself  everywhere  that 
it  had  no  business  to  be.  Had  I  better  start 
the  handy  man  on  it  at  oncQ,  or  would  it  be 
better  to  set  him  to  cut  the  hedges  ? 

But  even  as  I  was  planning  out  a  good  week's 
work  for  him,  I  saw  him  coming  up  the  path,  a 

315 


The  Flower-Patch 
among  the  Hills 

picturesque  figure  in  a  blue  jersey,  a  large,  shady, 
rush  hat,  and  carrying,  as  signs  of  office,  a  pitch- 
fork, a  scythe,  and  a  rake  ;  and  I  heard  his  voice 
in  the  garden  speaking  to  the  Head  of  Affairs  : 
"  Good-day  to  'ee,  sir.  I'm  main  glad  to  see  'ee, 
for  I  calkerlate  as  how  in  future  I  takes  my 
orders  from  the  master." 


316 


printed  in  great  britain  by 

William  Clowes  and  Sons,  Limited, 

stamford  street,  london,  s.e, 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


l 


JUL  2  6 

SRLF 
2  WEEK 


RBC'&  LD-Ul^L 
mi  1  9  loor 


A    000  127  905 


University  c 
Southern 
Library 


